Unfurling of a Rose
by Lunalelle
Summary: Corielle Griffin is introduced to the magicking world, and meets Lupin, is simultaneously attracted and repulsed by Snape, and in the midst has to deal with a terrible past. The plot thickens with the odd core of her wand...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Corielle stared at the intimidating scarlet train with trembling apprehension, its steam curling in billowing wafts at her feet.

"You'll be all right, sweetheart," said her mother, setting her hand tenderly on her daughter's covered head.

"I don't want to go, Mum," Corielle sobbed, turning back to her mother and burying her face into the shoulder which had been a haven to her for so many years.

"Corielle." Her mother stepped away and put her hands on Corielle's arms, forcing her daughter to look at her. "We've been waiting so long... _you've_ been waiting so long. Now's your time to walk into Hogwarts and find out who you really are. This life you've led isn't who you are. You'll make heaps of friends, I know it." Her mother adopted a mischievous manner. "Maybe you'll meet a boy."

"Mo-om," moaned Corielle in annoyed skepticism. Her face went pale at the thought of It, then flushed a brilliant red.

The whistle blew for the two-minute warning. The mother jumped, then frantically rearranged her daughter's head scarf needlessly, the scarf that Corielle had so carefully wrapped around her head to cover her hair.

"Why on earth do you want to hide that beautiful hair of yours?"

Corielle shifted uncomfortably. "You know why, mum. Besides, I don't want to talk about this right now."

Her mother sighed. Sometimes she did not understand why such a lovely girl would completely cover herself with clothes. The only glimpses of skin came from her shadowed face and thin, shaking hands.

"Goodbye, love," her mother said, holding back tears. "Don't look back. It's behind you. You'll never see him again, so you don't have to worry. Go on."

"I'm scared, mum." Corielle's voice cracked.

Her mother, Mrs. Griffin, was afraid if she did not go then, Corielle would never leave either. "Go." Then, knowing it would be the hardest thing for Corielle, she began walking backwards, slowly being clouded by, then disappearing in the steam of the train, leaving her daughter in the hands of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The one-minute call. Turning around slowly, Corielle took a deep breath and boarded the train. She squeezed herself into a compartment consisting of three babbling younger Hufflepuffs and one sleeping Ravenclaw. By some miracle, she acquired the window seat. Leaning her head against the window, she stared out into the cloudy, rumbling, formidable sky from behind her violet scarf, that thin piece of cloth that mercifully separated her from reality. Reality was where It lived.

~888~

By the time two hours had passed, Corielle wished she had brought her cat with her instead of leaving her in the familiars' car. Gwynllion would have at least been company. _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3_ was not nearly as captivating as Gwynllion's kittenish antics. The food cart had come and gone, and Corielle had finished her lunch, but she was too apprehensive to join the Huffleuffs' conversation.

Corielle exhaled loudly over the snores of the Ravenclaw. _I hope I know what I'm doing_, she thought as she pulled on her school robes over her own clothes.

~888~

Corielle could hear shouts of excitement as the Hogwarts Express pulled arrived at Hogsmeade Station, but she did not move from her seat until she was certain most of the students had disembarked to avoid brushing into anyone. Then she descended the steep steps to the platform.

"Firs' years!" bellowed a large, monstrous giant of a man. "Firs' years, this way!"

And suddenly, Corielle felt even more overwhelmed. Her hands grasped each other in anxiety. She struggled not to bite her nails, which had already lost their pearly white tips to the whim of her mouth. Without her grandmother sharply rapping her knuckles in punishment, Corielle had quickly lapsed into her old nervous habit on the train.

"Excuse me?" she muttered tentatively.

"Firs' years, this way! Come on, into the boats!" The man had obviously not heard her- not that Corielle was surprised. Her voice was very quiet, and the stature of the man had not helped to calm her fears.

Drawing in a deep breath, she tried again.

"Excuse me, sir?" she said a bit louder. The man looked down from his height to see her glance up at him, then look away, avoiding his gaze.

"Well now, yeah?"

"I've never been to Hogwarts before, or any other mage school, but I'm not exactly a first year..."

The great man nodded knowingly. "Ah, Dumbledore tol' me 'bout yeh. Yeah, we always take firs'-timers by lake, so I guess yer comin', too. Come on, hop in." His gracious, if rough, demeanor assuaged her misgivings, and at his invitation, Corielle stepped into the nearest boat. Then the man climbed in after her, tipping the boat considerably as he did. For a moment, Corielle worried about the balance, but the man tapped the side of the boat with a pink, frilly umbrella, and all the boats began moving on their own with uncanny ease.

Seeing Corielle's discomfort, he decided to break the silence. "Name's Rubeus Hagrid, but everyone calls me Hagrid. I'm teacher of Care of Magical Creatures (yeh'll have me, yer on m' list), but I'm still not used to bein' called a professor. 've only been a teacher fer five years. I'm also gamekeeper, keeper of the keys and grounds." And so he went on, garrolously praising Hogwarts, Dumbledore, the Forbidden Forest, Dumbledore, the teachers, Dumbledore, his job, and Dumbledore. Corielle was quite taken with Hagrid almost immediately; he seemed very honest and friendly.

Then he said, " 'ere's yer firs' look at 'Ogwarts."

Corielle looked up and caught her breath. One of her recommended readings for preparation of Hogwarts classes was _Hogwarts, A History_, and she had expected it to be spectacular, but even so, her breath was stolen from her lips.

In the darkness of the sunset to the west and the storm clouds rapidly approaching from the north, the school's brightly lit windows appeared as perpetually open, welcoming eyes, and they reflected waveringly in the water of the lake. The intricate turrets and towers added to the marvelous architecture, and gargoyles peaked out from odd corners. The vast grounds were obviously well cared for and the Forbidden Forest looked appropriately wild. As they drew closer to the school, there were excited murmurs of approval and awe from the surrounding boats.

"Welcome to "Ogwarts!" boomed Hagrid happily.

"It's wonderful," breathed Corielle.

Hagrid led them up to the entrance, and with hands the size of desktops: _BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_

A wispy witch opened the door carefully. "I'll take them from here, Hagrid. You go on to the Great Hall. Albus wishes to speak with you."

Puffing himself up like a proud, very large peacock, Hagrid sauntered past the first-years and Corielle and turned right, disappearing from sight. The witch ushered the students to a room to the left.

"Welcome to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am Professor Shelton, the Transfiguration teacher. Minerva McGonagall, for those who have heard of her, retired last year, and I succeed her. You will soon be walking into the Great Hall to be Sorted into one of the four great Houses of Hogwarts: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each one has yielded great wizards and witches, and I hope you will uphold your House's honor. Now, if you will follow me, please." For such a delicate creature, Professor Shelton's voice indicated that she was an exceptional replacement for the former Professor McGonagall.

The first years clustered into groups; to them, there was safety in numbers. Corielle, being technically a sixth-year, did not have anyone to hide behind. Also, she was so tall, hiding probably would not have worked, and her bright scarf singled her out anyway.

Professor Shelton led them back into the Entrance Hall, then through double doors into a sea of candles, faces, curious sparkling eyes, and whispers. Corielle wanted to retreat into her scarf. She stared at her slippers as though they held the secret to how one could Disapparate from Hogwarts. The first-years and Corielle were shepherded to the teachers' platform. Shelton faced them squarely.

"On that," she said, indicating a small, three-legged stool with a non-descript wizard's hat resting on top of it, "is the school Sorting Hat. When I call your name, you will sit and place the Sorting Hat on your head, and it will sort you into your House. But first," and here, Professor Shelton's face broke into a smile, "perhaps a little school history..." She drifted off as a rip opened at the brim of the hat.

_Four hundred years or more ago_

_On this very ground,_

_A mere thought of a school was waiting_

_For the Hogwarts Four to found._

_Now all were fairly jealous_

_Of the traits they treasure most_

_And of what special skills_

_Each Hogwarts House could boast._

_For Gryffindor, he found those_

_With courage and bravery best._

_For Hufflepuff, she believed_

_Hard work would pass the test._

_For Ravenclaw, true intellects_

_Were welcomed and rare to find._

_For Slytherin, great ambition_

_was praised with cunning in kind._

_So even now, years later,_

_When they are dead and gone,_

_Through me, the Hogwarts Sorting Hat,_

_The Hogwarts dream lives on._

_Give me a chance, come on, don't fret;_

_I'll tell where you're meant to be._

_Now commence, put me on, hurry up, I beg,_

_I hope, I ask, I plea._

The rip closed again, and the Great Hall erupted into applause. Corielle sighed, relieved. There was not much she had to do. She had read about Ravenclaw already, and she was sure that she would be sorted into that House. But still, she wished she did not have to be Sorted in front of the whole school. A sixteen-year-old being Sorted was a bit noticeable.

Professor Shelton began barking out names.

"Baddock, Lynn!"

Lynn looked only slightly green as she donned the Hat.

"SLYTHERIN!" the Hat cried. Lynn rushed to the Slytherin table with a mailbox grin.

"Brewing, Jason!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Cadby, Bert!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Daren, Brianna!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Griffin, Corielle!"

Swallowing through a dry throat, Corielle inched to the Sorting Hat. Professor Shelton smiled at her, and Corielle attempted reciprocation, but her smile muscles were not functioning correctly, and she managed a very weak grin that was more of a grimace. With her nervous adrenaline-fueled senses, she heard someone at the Gryffindor table mutter to the boy next to her on the bench, "She's got your name, Griffin," before setting the Hat on her own head.

"Ooh..." said the Sorting Hat gleefully. "I get one like you every few years... ever so difficult to place... challenges always thrill me (being only a Hat, you know), and I can see they thrill you, too... hmm... you wouldn't be bad in Ravenclaw, a clever mind, really, oh yes, but then all the rest would be worth nothing, such a waste, and we don't want that, do we? No, I think you'd better be SLYTHERIN!"

Brow puckered, Corielle lifted the Sorting Hat from her head and went to the Slytherin table. Professor Shelton was no longer smiling.

"Hey," someone hissed from further down as "Gerald, Rock!" was Sorted into Gryffindor. Corielle started in surprise, then turned toward the voice. A pretty girl with a curly blond head was beckoning to her. "Come here. Sit down, just so that you don't have to sit with the tadpoles. Budge over, won't you, Victor?" The boy sitting beside the Slytherin girl rolled his eyes, but obeyed slavishly with a little bow, bumping the pale boy next to him and jolting him from his thoughtful reverie.

"How come you're only just being Sorted? You're old enough to be seventh-year."

"Sixth-year," Corielle corrected. "I'll explain after the Sorting, I guess." Corielle glanced at the High Table as a teacher rushed in and sat down near the center of the table. She surveyed the teachers' faces. As she did, the girl next to her gave a running commentary on the ones with which she was familiar.

"The one in the middle, the one with the heavy robes, that's Headmaster Dumbledore. Destroyed the Dark Lord, he did, last year, with Harry Potter's help, of course. Dad always said it would happen that way: Dumbledore using another for his work, as usual, like a chess game, where we're all pawns, but doing so well that no one, including the pawns, usually cares. Mind you, since he conquered the Dark Lord, I don't think anyone's complaining. It looks like he's getting on in years; maybe his age is finally starting to catch up to him." The girl said all of this very rapidly, the words spilling out of her mouth, and Corielle barely managed to process it all.

"That man to the left of Dumbledore, the one that's just come in, is Professor Lupin. He's a werewolf, and he teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts. Bit ironic, isn't it? But he's good, knows his stuff, though that's about as many compliments as I'm going to give about a former Gryffindor.

"The woman on the other side of Dumbledore's Professor Sprout; she teaches Herbology..." And so it went, from A to Zyryan, the lowdown on the teachers. (FYI: Flitwick is retired as well, leaving a Professor Harvey Jenkins from Hufflepuff to teach. Rumor has it that Charms was never as good again. Flitwick had been a Charms Master.)

"...and," said the girl, winding down finally and catching a breath, "that's Professor Chang. She's a former Slytherin, finally, and she's a relative of the minor's Quidditch team's champion, Cho Chang. She's really nice, but she can be awfully persuasive. She's teaching History of Magic, and you'd better say your thanks, girl, 'cause you missed _the_ most boring teacher ever. For Io's sake, Professor Binns already _died_, I'd think he would've taken some free time off, but nooo... he just continued being a sedative until finally Professor Trelawney, our Divination teacher, a sibyl by trade, helped him cross over. Actually, she's been doing better, too. I've heard she used to do purely guesswork, but she's only recently found the true Sight. I wouldn't know; I don't take Divination."

"Who's that?" Corielle said when she could find a silent second, indicating the person in question with her eyes.

"That? That's our Head of House, Professor Snape. They say he played a bigger role than Potter against the Dark Lord simply because the Dark Lord didn't know Snape wasn't bad. He favors Slytherins, so you won't need to worry about him much. And he's actually an okay person, in an unpleasant sort of way."

_That's comforting_, though Corielle uneasily as she observed the professor carefully, taking note of his intense glare, his hooked nose, his greasy hair, and his condescending, subtle sneer. _I'll definitely stay away from him._

Then Professor Shelton rolled up the bit of parchment from which she had been reading the names and retrieved the stool and the Sorting Hat, and Professor Dumbledore, with the aid of Professor Lupin, stood up.

"Welcome, a thousand times, welcome." The voice was cracked with age, but there was a hint of his old energy, still sparkling like a beam of light on the edge of a cloud. "As usual, I have announcements to make, but I assure you, they will not be long for the threat of being drowned out by the rumbling of your stomachs." Dumbledore gave a dry cough, then looked up again. "The Forbidden Forest is, as the name indicates, strictly forbidden, as is the village of Hogmeade to anyone under third-year. Several of the teachers have retired, so there are new teachers in our midst. Be gentle." The throng laughed. "Yes, yes, but on a more serious note, now that Voldemort is dead, it is time to rebuild. I urge you to learn all that you can and work to the best of your abilities, for the road of reconstruction stretching before us is difficult. Everyone is needed. And..." But he could not finish. He began hacking more and more, holding his chest and gasping for air. Lupin steadied the Headmaster, then continued for him.

"Now, even more than before, we must join together as one so that divisions such as those Lord Voldemort created shall never happen again, or at least not in the near future. I hope that even the small rivalries within this school will be set aside, and Hogwarts will finally unite as the school the original Four had meant it to be." Helping Dumbledore into his chair, Lupin cried, "But it is difficult to speak of heavy things when one's stomach is so light." And the golden plates and goblets filled with delicious food and drink for the Beginning Feast.

"He's gotten worse," said Corielle's neighbor anxiously. "He wasn't nearly this bad last year. Never thought of him being old, Dumbledore, but he's got to be eighty or ninety."

"For Io's sake, Marcie, don't you ever shut up?" groaned the boy on Corielle's right side, the one her neighbor had called Victor. He grinned at her. "If she talks your ear off, I give you full permission to slap her. She needs it anyway."

"Oh, come one, Victor. You know you want to make violent love to me in one of Filch's broom closets. Don't deny it," Marcie purred. Victor shook his head with a pleased grin on his face. He helped himself to a chicken leg and offered one to Corielle, who accepted it gratefully, then shook her hand.

"My name's Vic Shaman. Don't be turned off be the name; I'm not American. And you are...?"

"Corielle Griffin, pleased to meet you."

"Likewise."

The girl next to her could not contain herself for long. "I'm Marcie Fireflow. My parents named me Marcella, if you can believe it. Marcella! I sound like a pasta or a disease! And we're unlucky. We both have Gryffindor names."

"Is that bad?"

Vic goggled, aghast that Corielle did not know the ramifications of her name in respect to Slytherin. "Well, it's not bad, but it's not good."

Marcie explained, "Ever since the founding of Hogwarts, there's been a sort of rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Not a lot of people know why, but we're all loyal to our House, even if that means hating each other."

Corielle groaned.

"What's wrong?"

"In that case, Mum and Dad are going to kill me. They're both Gryffindors." Corielle looked thoughtfully at the enchanted ceiling. The storm clouds had split and were raining in sheets. "Though I've never heard them say anything bad about Slytherin. Mum works with some, I think. And Dad used to."

"What do they do?" asked Vic. "Are you an old bloodline?"

"I think we're straight blood, five hundred years at least. Mum works in the advertising business. She's an agent for Bertie Bott's daughter and Celestina Warbeck for starters. And Dad's a retired Auror. He retired when Mum had me, which was a year after the Dark Lord's first downfall. They're both pretty prominent in the magic world which is why I was sort of a disappointment to them."

"Yeah," said Marcie," you were going to tell us why you're so late in coming."

"Well, I was raised as a witch, obviously, but I showed no signs of preliminary magic. When my Mum decided to go back to work, I was two, and I was brought up by my grandmother (Dad didn't know how to raise a kid, but he learned from Grandma). She watched me like a hawk, but my eleventh birthday passed without a single sign of accidental magic. It was the same on my twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth birthday. I attended Muggle private schools in place of Hogwarts. Mum and Dad were talking about having another child because they wanted a mage in the family; I hated it.

"About two months ago, a week after I heard them discussing about having a baby, I received a bad test grade at school. It was pouring rain, and I missed my bus, so I had to walk home. I yanked the door open and stomped up the stairs and threw myself into my room... and fell onto the ceiling. All of my things, like my bed and wardrobe, that had been on the floor were all on the ceiling, and the ceiling fan was on the floor, and everything was out of place, even words. I called for Mum, and she walked, or fell, in and asked me what had happened. Actually, to be more precise, she asked me, 'Happened what here has?' It took four hours and Dad's help before everything was back in order. A day later, I received my letter of acceptance from Hogwarts. Of course, they had to make a few exceptions, and I have a plethora of tutorials and make-ups to do, but I think it's worth it if it means I'm not a Squib."

The pale boy on the other side of Vic asked quietly, "Why do you wear the scarf on your head?"

"Yeah," agreed Marcie, "is it a religious thing?"

"No, it's not religious," said Corielle shiftily. "I just want to wear it."

The boy turned his blue eyes to look at her. "Why?"

Corielle could not look at him directly. Instead she pulled her scarf closer around her head, hiding her expression from his gaze. "Because I want to."

The pale boy was none other than Draco Malfoy, who had been suspended for two year from Hogwarts. The suspension was not for the use of Dark Arts, as most would have expected, but for smuggling illegal _soma_* into the Slytherin common room. He returned in disgrace to the vast Malfoy estate, and Lucius Malfoy had beaten his son within an inch of his life for the suspension. When Voldemort was destroyed for a second time, Lucius was caught, tried, and thrown into Azkaban. Draco and his mother had been spared, but the event had left young Draco a new and sober older sixth-year. In his new state, he observed more than he spoke, and he recognized an uncomfortable brush-off when he heard one, though he continued to stare at Corielle inconspicuously. _I wonder what she's hiding, _he thought.

~888~

I use soma in the context of Huxley's Brave New World, where it is a hallucinogenic hallucinogenic drug with good feelings (such as sex) and no side effects. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

After much ado at the dinner table, and when the plates were spotless and stomachs were considerably fuller than before, each House headed for their own common room. As the Slytherins exited the Great Hall and descended a flight of stairs, Corielle trailed behind Marcie and Vic. The two sixth-years were as kind as to be expected to Corielle, though they were slightly distant with the newcomer; being Slytherin, their instinct was guilty until proven innocent, and though they actually felt Corielle a fine, if timid, addition to the Slytherin family, they were not about to let her know it. Still, they led her in the easiest way to the Slytherin wing (a few trapdoors and doors behind tapestries) down in the dungeons.

In one of the murky underground corridors, the Slytherins came to a halt in front of a great bare expanse of stone. Leaning forward, Marcie announced the new password.

"Grindelwald." 

For a moment, there was no reaction, and Corielle worried that they might be in the wrong place or using the wrong password. But then the wall folded back to reveal a dark common room, cold, stark, and not at all welcoming. It was softened only by several green lamps and an enormous fire burning at the opposite side of the room. The flames did not succeed in dissipating the overall chill, physical and spiritual, that permeated the air of the dungeons, perfumed with scents such as burnt paper, spices, carrion, and preservatives. Marcie explained in an undertone that the smell was due to the fact that the Potions classroom was directly adjacent to the Slytherin quarters. In front of the fire were clusters of winged chairs. In the largest of these chairs reclined a man. All Corielle could see was his legs, but somehow, without having Marcie or Vic explain, she knew that this was Professor Snape, the Head of Slytherin House.

"I've heard he's changed a lot since last year now that the Dark Lord's dead," Marcie whispered to Corielle.

Professor Snape sat brooding into the fireplace as he heard the rumbling of his pupils footsteps. He gave no indication that he knew they were there.

The summer break had been a strange sort of limbo, and though he despised teaching idiots and morons who did not care about his subject, he was glad he would have something to occupy his time. And maybe... just maybe there would be one or two students up to scratch. Both Potter and Longbottom, to his lasting surprise, had managed to graduate the year before, thank Chrestomanci for small mercies. And Draco Malfoy was back this year, by all appearances apparently wiser after two years' absence.

Who knew? Maybe this year would be even a quarter decent, although he would have to deal with Shaman and Fireflow, the Catastrophous Couple, for yet another term; Snape speculated this with distaste. Sometimes those two were worse than the Weasley twins in their own way, particularly since they were Slytherins, and therefore his responsibility.

Once certain that all his Slytherins were assembled, he swept around to face them, glowering at all of them.

"A new year," he said. His tone was soft, but he never needed to raise his voice to be heard; it carried effortlessly over the silent students. "A year of peace and turmoil, trials and tribulations, destruction and reconstruction. I will expect nothing less than perfection from my Slytherins." He surveyed the students, and his contemptuous sneer made it obvious to the assembly that many would not satisfy his expectations. Such was the power of his convictions that the students were willing to do anything to deserve praise by their Head- or die trying.

"Salazar Slytherin demanded his students to achieve greatness far above the average rung, and he chose accordingly. Before he succumbed to insanity, he was considered the greatest of the Hogwarts Four. The reason for this was his desire for students with great ambition and great abilities. It was with this desire that he collaborate with the other three founders to establish the greatest wizarding school of all time. Salazar's emphasis on ambition became the criteria for all who entered his House, even though this quality is considered by some to be Slytherin's fault. Despite this dismissive attitude of the general populace, as we in the Slytherin House know, there is much to be said of ambition. It embraces all the positive elements of every other House of Hogwarts, in addition to having what they lack.

"Ambition requires bravery, a trait generally credited to Gryffindor, but not their reckless, blind courage. With tenacity comes failure, a 'look before you leap' analogy, if you will. And a Slytherin will never fail because of recklessness." Snape's lip curled condescendingly.

"Ambition requires cleverness, Ravenclaw's trait. Without knowledge, ambition is but a dream, and any fool can dream; without ambition, in which Ravenclaw is ultimately deficient, what use is knowledge?

"Ambition requires hard work, dedication, and loyalty, all Hufflepuff traits, because ambition is again a dream without a focus or that for which to fight. But it is equally true that without the focus of ambition, hard work, dedication, and loyalty are wasted from lack of purpose.

"While acknowledging the qualities of the other Houses, it is clear that Slytherin has more that makes them extraordinary.

"Cunning, which equals cleverness in everything until it surpasses the latter by being more devious; resourcefulness, knowledge of when rules must be broken, solitude, and, additionally, a bit of insanity. It spices otherwise dull world." He observed with amusement the shock on his pupils' faces. Then his eyes lighted on Marcie and Vic, and his glared pointedly at them. "Only a little bit, though," Snape snapped at them. The pair grinned innocently in return, and he was secretly pleased with their daring.

"In conclusion, stand tall, be strong, and in short, win Slytherin the House Cup. As you are well aware, I do not consider you guilty of any academic or behaviour transgressions unless you are caught in the act. If a teacher gathers up his or her courage to complain to me about suspected activities, I will duly note that complaint civilly. If you are caught, you deserve any punishment meted out to you. And be warned. Though I know I am considered soft in my own House, I will not tolerate any petty misbehavior that wastes precious time. In other words, do not get caught if you insist on breaking the rules and expect me to help you. In that event, you will have to rely on your own powers of persuasion to sway punishment unless you have a feasible, preferably honest, excuse." Here Snape shot a look at Draco. The Head was satisfied to see his favorite pupil looking aptly ashamed and slightly embarrassed.

"Do I make myself clear?" There was absolute silence; all the students, especially the first years, quailed beneath Snape's fierce stare and inimical words. Students accustomed to Snape's acrimony listened to their Head in silence, and did not attempt to answer what seemed to be a rhetorical question.

"I said, 'Do I make myself clear?' "

His Slytherins woke from their stupor and nodded their heads tremulously.

"Good," Snape spat. He was one of the chosen few who could make a pep talk sound like a reprimand.

One girl who stood next to the Catastrophous Couple was not moving, not a single hairbreadth. To a casual observer, she appeared to be Petrified. Snape's eyes narrowed as they focused on her. Then they widened slightly as he realized who she must be.

_A raw rabbit_, he thought as he raked his eyes quickly over her._ She's pretty enough, at least as much as I can tell, but she's scared to death. I don't know what she's doing here- at Hogwarts, let alone Slytherin. I wonder how long it will take before she runs._

Snape sighed inaudibly in annoyance.

_I guess I'll have to put up with her for the Headmaster's sake. Don't know why he's interested in her, but I'm not about to argue with him now. His health's not what it used to be. Any shock, no matter how small, will kill him._ Frowning darkly, he swept toward her.

During Snape's speech, Corielle was seriously wondering if she had been placed in the right House at all. She had read in _Hogwarts, A History_ that the Sorting Hat had never made a mistake, but everyone had to make one at least once, even a charmed Hat... As the Slytherin throng broke up, each student going to his or her dormitory, a few students remained.

Corielle and Draco stayed in their position, both disconcerted, but for completely different reasons. Draco was still remembering with a particularly cutting sting what had happened two years ago in this common room where they had stripped him of his wand. He had been reunited with it only a few weeks earlier, and now he stroked it absentmindedly, staring at the floor, but aware of the two other people in the room.

As Snape was pondering his doubts, Corielle was frozen to her spot, and she did not notice anyone else around her. Marcie and Vic had left, and she was imbued with a new sort of desperation, that of having a friend, then finding that friend no longer by her side. She was totally disconcerted and completely out of her depth.

Corielle was so immersed in her own thoughts, she failed to hear the rapidly approaching footsteps of her Head behind her. Indeed, she had not even realized he was still in the common room at all.

"Miss Griffin," Snape murmured from behind her.

Corielle jumped approximately a foot in the air, then whirled around to face the Potions Master. She struggled to find an excuse, and finally stumbled out, "I'm sorry, Professor, I wasn't paying attention." Then she blanched as Snape gave her a cold, pitiless sneer.

Snape raised one eyebrow disdainfully. "Take care that you pay your full attention plus a hefty interest from now on. Your first class is advanced Potions, I believe. I take it you've read your required reading list."

His last statement was not a question.

Corielle took painstaking care to avoid his penetrating eyes, but even so, it took all her grandmother's training to prevent herself from fidgeting. But somehow she managed to, and answered with some sort of semblance of calmness, "Yes, sir." She was glad she could give a truthful answer.

He ignored her answer ­ Corielle had a fleeting thought of medival torture by Professor Snape for answering a question incorrectly, but forced the vision away as she realized Snape was still speaking. She tried her best to pay the attention he had commanded.

"Private class with me begin at nine, but I want you there at seven thirty. If you are late, even by a minute, that will be five points from Slytherin. And let me tell you something, Miss Griffin, I do not like to take points off my own house, and what I do not like, you do not like, so you _will_ be on time. We need to discuss how you will get through this year without any previous training. It will be necessary to test your skills practically as well as mentally. You've made it into Hogwarts, but you have the distinct disadvantage of coming into my House late in your years, which Salazar Slytherin would most likely never have tolerated. You will have to work ten times as hard as any other student to earn my favor. I will not cosset you, Miss Griffin. Are you listening to me? You are not looking at me. Look at me."

Corielle forced her eyes onto his face, and forced her eyes to meet his, and forced herself not to flinch from his cold gaze. "I understand, sir."

"Very well." Snape permitted her a twisted smile. "Pleasant dreams, Miss Griffin. Draco," he acknowledged in the general direction of the pale boy, who nodded his head in response. In a swirl of billowing robes, Snape stalked out of the common room and into his chambers.

Corielle remained motionless after Snape's departure. Her fingers pulled at the edges of her scarf, as if she wanted to withdraw into it completely. _If I can't see you, you can't see me_, she thought unreasonably. Then more sternly, _Come on, Corielle, pull yourself together. You can do it, you know you can. You can do any task he sets before you. Don't be afraid._

She laughed mirthlessly._ Don't be afraid? That's a joke. I'm terrified._

Then, unexpectedly, she felt a hand on her shoulder, and for the second time that evening, she jumped.

"Are you okay?" asked Draco, releasing her shoulder as Corielle adjusted her scarf.

"No," she answered honestly.

"Why?"

"Because."

"Why?"

Corielle turned sorrowful eyes on Draco. "I can't tell you," she said simply.

Then she edged around him, wanting to leave it at that, but Draco was not finished.

"What are you afraid of?" Draco's voice was low, hushed, and might have been mistaken for one of seduction. It was this last quality of his speech that made Corielle shiver apprehensively.

After a pause, she replied. Her voice was as soft as his had been, but with a slight edge to it.

"Everything."

Then, followed by Draco's persistent stare, she climbed the stairs to the sixth-year girls' dormitory.

_This is going to be an awful year._

~888~

At precisely six thirty the following morning, Corielle sat up in her four-poster and rubbed her eyes. Before she even got out of bed, she retied a new scarf over her head, throwing her old one into the laundry chest at the foot of her bed. Then, as quickly as she could, she grabbed a new set of brightly-colored calico slacks and tunic and put them on.

"Where on earth did _those_ come from?" murmured Marcie in awe from the next bed. Corielle started. She had thought everyone was asleep, but Marcie's head was peeking out from between her curtains. Corielle swallowed self-consciously, then explained.

"My aunt lives in India, and she knows I like calico, so she gets them custom-made for me." Looking at Marcie's expression, she felt the need to add some kind of defence for her unusual choice of clothes. "Don't worry, I'm putting my robes on over them."

"It's just that Salazar Slytherin never did like Muggles. Thought they were inferior, he did."

"Well," Corielle snapped, never her best in the mornings, "I've also read that he didn't like Squibs, but I'm here."

"You're not a Squib."

"I thought I was, and anyway, what is it to you what I wear?"

"Nothing and everything. Not to sound threatening, but I can make or break you here. But I won't tell. Besides, they suit you."

If Corielle had not been so polite, she would have been sarcastic, but she did not enjoy being nasty. _Besides, why throw away a perfectly beneficial friendship?_ she reasoned with herself. Then she winced and mentally kicked herself. _I've only been here a day, and I'm already acting selfishly_.

She finished dressing behind her curtains, then stood up to go to the lavatory to redo her hair.

"How come you get to be so tall?" Marcie complained good-naturedly.

Corielle shrugged and slipped through the door. No one else was up at this hour, but she still felt the need to hurry before the general gossiping crowd of giggling girls that haunted the mirrors invaded her privacy.

Reaching the bathrooms, Corielle untied the knot at her chin and slid the silver scarf off her head. Deftly removing ninety or so hairpins, ripples of silky, fine, deeply dark red hair cascaded down her back, over her shoulders, and below her waist. She had inherited the strange hair color from her grandmother on her mother's side, and many strangers had stopped her in the streets when she was young to inquire about the supposed artificial hue.

As much as her hair bothered her -for more reasons than one- she couldn't bear to part with it. She took out her brush, and ran it gently through the general rats and tangles that had accumulated in the week since she last let her hair down. As hurried as she was, she had time only for a brief wash and a hastily braided knot that covered her entire head.

Just as she heard the approaching twitter of the crowd of girls that all seemed to invade the bathroom at the same time, she finished arranging the silver scarf on her head so that not a single crimson strand could be seen. She was quick and efficient- some of her relatives had even gone as far as forgetting the color of Corielle's hair, she had been wearing the scarves for so long. The bathrooms doors were thrown open as she slid in the last pin.

"Hey, new girl," cheeped a fifth-year inquisitively. "Why are you wearing that?"

"I'm not going to answer that," Corielle stated simply. The fifth-year gave Corielle the evil eye ward in response. Corielle paid it no mind; she knew that some people would be vulgar, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Corielle shot a look at the mirror, something she had managed to avoid at home for several years, and shuddered. Her dreams that night had been less than desirable. Without meaning to, her thoughts flew to the last scenes of her nightmare.

_"Get through the house, Corielle, darling," her uncle whispered enticingly. "Get through the house. If you go the wrong way, I can't guarantee I'll be gentle." He pushed her into the dark maze where nineteen out of twenty doors would open to him. "If you get through the right way, maybe I'll let you lead..."_

Corielle shook her head violently. No, she would not let herself think of It. She was safe now. But her face fell as she remembered why she needed to be awake so early.

~888888~

---The evil eye ward is where the hand is balled into a fist with only the index finger and pinky pointing outward. It was used during superstitious times against odd people who gave ordinary people odd looks. In this context, it is equivalent in vulgarity to the Finger. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"I'm glad you were prompt, Miss Griffin," Professor Snape said, swooping into his office. "Five points for Slytherin."

Expecting the meek and submissive countenance observed the previous evening, his new student's reaction was something of a surprise to the Potions Master. Corielle, in dramatic contrast to the previous night, had not even noticed his entrance, something that had never happened to him throughout his entire teaching career. She was deeply engrossed in writing on a length of parchment that had already been nearly filled, her wand forgotten on her desk, and all he could see of her was that ridiculous silver headscarf. Approaching her from behind as his had the previous evening, Snape read her practiced handwriting as well as he could over her shoulder. Her spidery scroll was Victorian and nearly illegible in its elegance.

'_The use of garlic against a vampire is the most controversial and misunderstood protection against the undead. The truth is, however, that it is effective for a reason so simple that few realize it. The use of garlic is an ancient form of protection against diseases and prevention against abnormalities. It is said that if one ate garlic everyday, he of she would live to a hundred years old and still be in vigorous health. It is the healing and natural properties of the garlic clove that wards against the unnaturalness that is the very nature of the vampire. In fact, this unnaturalness is the explanation for many other weaknesses of a vampire..._'

"Brilliant induction, Miss Griffin," he said, genuinely impressed, but taking care to slip his signature subtle sarcasm into his voice so as not to betray his thoughts.

Corielle set down her quill, completely missing the sarcasm. "I _did_ read the books from the list, Professor."

"Did you read the recommended as well as required?"

"There was recommended reading?"

"On the back of the required list."

"That was recommended?! I though it was required."

Snape chuckled in the back of his throat. "You remind me of a recently graduated student." The rare smile disappeared as he remembered that student. "Hopefully, you'll be more promising than Miss Granger. She was an overbearing know-it-all."

"Put that essay away now. I've talked to your teachers. I have been told to teach you rudimentary Charms and Transfiguration as well as Potions. Professor Lupin is planning strict training in the Dark Arts, and Professors Shelton and Jenkins will work with you on more advanced Charms and Transfiguration. As for your other classes, they are electives, save History of Magic, and Dumbledore feels we should give you the benefit of the doubt."

Snape began pacing like a caged lion.

"From now until we finish our lessons, you will report here every morning and I'll tutor you in what you have missed in your nonexistant education, but _you_," he stopped pacing and looked at Corielle, who was looking at her hands, "will have to work extra hard, day and night, to attain ordinary wizarding levels that are high enough to satisfy me. You will take the O.W.L.s at the end of the year with the fifth-years, and you _will_ do better than the prefects." As he said this, he leaned forward until he was face to face with Corielle, who still refused to look at him. "Do you comprehend the sacrifices you must make?"

Corielle answered quietly, "Yes, sir."

Snape took a brisk step back and straightened. "We will begin with the simple Levitation spell. It..."

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," chanted Corielle. Her parchment lifted into the air. "_Banished_." The parchment sailed into her bookbag. She looked calmly at her Head of House. "_Standard Book of Spells Grades 1 _and _3_. Mum had permission to teach me for the last two months."

Snape's eyebrows raised slightly. "Why didn't you tell me directly?"

"Well, I did not know how to. Interrupting would have been impolite, and I'm never comfortable correcting an instructor. I was taught not to do so."

"Then we shall have to unlearn you. When there is little time, we cannot waste it with etiquette."

Corielle did not like to disagree, but she could not help herself, "That might take more time than you think." She rubbed her hands absentmindedly. She may not have noticed, but Snape did. Her milky white hands were flawless except for several red marks and scars on her knuckles. Realizing that Corielle knew he was inspecting her hands, he swiftly changed the subject.

"What kind of wand? An Ollivander, I presume. It works too well to be another."

Corielle latched onto the new subject gratefully. "Yes, Mum took me to Diagon Alley almost immediately after acceptance." She proudly held the wand vertical in front of her face, splitting her features in half. "Thirteen and a half inches, yew, heartstring..."

Snape interrupted and stored the elements in his memory. Dumbledore had inquired. "Thirteen and a half, yew, dragon heartstring. An interesting combination."

She shook her head. "It isn't a dragon heartstring, it's human. It's a recent make, he's been doing it for only five years. I'm the first person to purchase one. I think the core is in its experimental stage at the moment. It has to be of a powerful magic, and there aren't very many witches and wizards who have enough magic in themselves for a wand. Of course, they have to be dead before the extraction of the heartstrings, but a person's magic doesn't die with them immediately, which is how it is possible for human heartstrings to be removed and preserved inside a wand. Mr. Ollivander told me that Professor Dumbledore has consented to give his heartstrings for a core after death."

Snape observed that while she was explaining the origins of her wand, Corielle was much more at ease. He also saw that she sat very straight in her chair with her hands daintily in her lap like a schoolgirl reciting. Her very preciseness annoyed him to no end, though for some reason, it wasn't due to his earlier frustrations regarding how very un-Slytherin-like she was. He cleared his throat testily, and was satisfied to see her flush and fall silent, even as he seethed that she didn't have the spine to resent his tyranny. Something about this girl just rubbed him in the wrong way very reminscent to Potter or Longbottom or Granger.

"Well, as interesting as this is, it is well past time for us to commence your tutorial." Snape looked at his watch. "Seven forty-five. We'll have time for one test. If you have indeed learned everything over the course of a few months, then there is no need for me to teach you over again, and I can test you to ascertain that you have thoroughly covered as many grades of Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions in which you consider yourself to be capable," he narrowed his eyes, the sarcasm in his tone becoming more apparent. "Practical as well theoretical."

If Snape had been expecting Corielle to baulk at the idea of a series of intensive tests to be given by himself, once again, he was proven wrong. Corielle did not miss a beat. She was scholarly to a fault, and she wouldn't mind testing. She knew she was capable ­ looking back on how hard she had worked with her mother, there was no way she could think otherwise ­ and she wanted to make Snape acknowledge her application. For Io's sake, she _was_ a Slyth. A tiny part of her even looked forward to proving herself to him- a challenge of sorts. Only a very tiny part, though. He could still put the fear of Hell in her, without exerting a minuscule amount of effort.

_As long as he isn't breathing down my neck, I'll be fine._ Distance was definitely the solution. More distance than there was between them just then; he was standing about one foot away and was looming over her like an overgrown vulture. She did not want to admit it to herself, but her knees were shaking so violently they were almost knocking.With gritted teeth, she forced herself to ignore the tremors which swept through her and concentrated on Snape's continuing monologue.

"It is apparent you are already familiar with Levitation, but I want you to write a brief essay on the mechanics of the charm and why it is one of the most important spells for a witch to learn, to be handed in tomorrow. Now, show me the Disarming Spell..."

Snape drilled Corielle until she was nearly crying with distress. He was not kind, and she knew it was not in his nature to be so, but his icy attitude still left her holding back tears. She showed wisdom in doing so because had Snape seen one tear drip down her cheeks (and he tried, oh how he tried to break her composure completely) from her flooding eyes, he would have kicked her out of his office, and possibly out of Hogwarts if he could manage it, in disgust at her failure to be even a passable Slytherin.

Corielle reminded him too much of a combination between Granger and Longbottom, and it infuriated him that she had to be in his House.

_What is she doing in here?_ Snape thought for the umpteenth time as he looked over her in disdain. _Does she have no spine, no gall?_ Snape saw with displeasure that this young lady potentially might never develop into the Slytherin she should be. She was clever and had a mind for facts, but there were no other Slytherin traits that he could discern. She was a closed mind, and her many layers of clothing seemed to emphasize her desire not to be read. Both annoyed him ­ more than even Potter's presence in his classroom had managed to annoy him for seven long, bitter years. Impatient with his own frustrations, he called the tutorial to an end.

"That's enough, Miss Griffin. You've proven yourself adequate in practical Charms grades one and two. Tomorrow, we'll test you on theoretical Charms. Also due by the end of the week is a box of potions you would have mastered over the first five-year period. Here is the list." He thrust a sheet of parchment into her hand. "All this will be done during own time. Now, grab some breakfast upstairs and come back for Potions class. I'll allow you to eat in my class if needed, as I've kept you."

Corielle was visibly surprised, and, inevitably, Snape noticed.

"As much as you are led to believe, I am not a complete ogre, and you are my pupil and my responsibility."

Corielle stood, slightly more comfortable, and inclined her head. "Thank you, Professor." She grabbed her things, in total silence, and stuffed them quickly in her bag. Then, s briskly as she could, she walked out of the office, never once looking at the impervious face of her Head of House.

Snape stared after her. After seeing her abilities and her quick grasp of practical magic, he could not help but be slightly impressed. And despite his annoyance at her lack of Slytherin qualities, a rogue thought drifted lazily through his head.

_Maybe this won't be such a bad year after all._

~888~

At breakfast, Corielle slipped onto an empty bench. Most of the students had already finished eating, and had gone to collect their books for class. Those who remained were busy finishing their toast, porridge, or eggs, and paid little attention to her. There was no sign of either Vic or Marcie. Checking her watch, she noticed with relief that she would have time to eat quickly and get back to the Potions dungeon without actually taking any food with her. A vision of Professor Snape's disapproving eyes plagued her thoughts, despite his assurances that food would be permitted. Grabbing a piece of toast with one hand, and flipping open her History of Magic text with the other, she began chewing. Engrossed in breakfast and Medieval Mages, she didn't notice when Draco approached and sat next to her.

"An enjoyable read?" he asked lightly.

Swallowing, but without closing her book, she replied, "Did he ask you to try and engage me in conversation?"

"Of course. Professor Snape and I have an... understanding now."

Draco reached over Corielle's History of Magic text and helped himself to a small pile of buttered cinnamon raisin toast from herplate. He paid no attention to the nasty glare she sent his way. Corielle, in turn, paid no attention to his indifference. Dusting her hands of cinnamon toast crumbs, she coldly dismissed him.

"It's not going to work, you know."

Draco shrugged. "It's working now, isn't it? Of course, there are other ways of getting your attention," he said softly, slowly moving his left hand to her back. Taking care not to touch her, his hands moved toward he tugged on the silver scarf wrapped securely around her head. His movements were sleek and stealthy, not causing even a whisper of movement that could have alerted Corielle to what he was doing. From her viewpoint, he was suddenly devoting incredible attention to the cinnamon toast in his left hand. Then, just as his right hand hovered directly over the edge of her headscarf, something extraordinary occurred.

Corielle swivelled to face him, deftly ducking her head as she did so in order to avoid his hand, which clenched on thin air instead of her scarf. Her eyes flashed fire as her hand grabbed Draco's, and the older boy winced at the force she managed to exert with her grip.

"Don't even think about it, Malfoy!" she snarled at him through gritted teeth. "I don't care what you say to me, but don't you dare try to violate my privacy. If I ever, ever catch you trying to yank at my scarf again..."

"You'll do what?" Draco sneered, though Corielle thought she detected a hint of worry behind his derogatory tone.

For a fleeting moment, the old Corielle worried, trembled, as she wondered how on earth she could threaten Draco Malfoy. He was too much like the nemesis of her past ­ self-confident, arrogant, complacantly inconsiderate towards those who were weaker than he was. Then, from somewhere deep inside her, a new strength reared its head. She had a power of her own ­ and there was no way anyone would stop her from using it!

Looking at Draco with an icy calm, Corielle stated clearly, "I'll set Marcie and Vic on you. Oh, not to prank you," she assured him as his lips curved upwards in an amused smirk. "No, I'll get them to plant something in your room. Something that's already caused problems for you in the past. What do you think, Draco?" she asked confidingly, moving closer to him so that no one else could hear her words. "If Professor Snape or Dumbledore found more _soma_ strategically placed in your room, it would be very difficult to convince them that you weren't responsible for it being there, wouldn't it?"

As she watched, Corielle noted with cruel satisfaction that Draco's face seemed to be turning a little paler than usual.

"Think about it," she advised calmly, shutting her History of Magic text and picking her bag up. Rising in one fluid movement, she patted him gently on the shoulder. "Think about it." And then she walked off to class.

Draco shook his head as if to clear it, blinked, then stared after Corielle with wide eyes. _Where did that come from?_ Then with frustrated curiosity: _What is underneath that damn scarf? What is she hiding? And above all, why is she so touchy about it?_

~888888~

---the 'ed' is pronounced like the name Ed; the word has three syllables, not two. It is a play on Shakespeare's use of the word in _Romeo & Juliet_, if anyone really wants to know. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Corielle shivered as she headed down the corridor to Potions class. _Why did I do that to Draco_? she thought grimly. _That was cruel, like something _he_ would do. _She could not believe she had threatened him with expulsion.

Even as she stepped into the Potions classroom, Corielle was preoccupied with what she had done. Marcie and Vic waved her over, but when she did not respond, the Couple stood and went to her, then steered her forcefully to her seat. The rest of the class watched with amusement.

Professor Snape, however, was feigning disinterest while guessing why she was so distracted. He also wondered whether Draco had gotten any answers.

Unfortunately, Snape had to wait for his answers; just as the bell rang, Draco sauntered in, hiding his confusion and hurt well. The pale boy shared a glance with his Head, but looked away. Silently, and despite the danger, he sat at the table next to Corielle. Corielle stared at him in disbelief, then turned her head sharply away from him as Snape began his first lecture.

"Congratulations. You have reached advanced Potions. You have realized that potion-making is an art. You have been chosen to be here because of your abilities in the field. Some of you." Snape's gaze rested on Corielle. She was rubbing the ends of her nails agitatedly. "One of you is only here because the Headmaster wanted you here, and the Headmaster is the only person in this school with the power to override my opinions." Satisfied, yet aggravated, that she raised her right hand to bite a nail, he backed off and addressed the entire class once again. Marcie gave her an exaggerated pity look that made Corielle smile, and she tugged her hand away from her mouth again.

Marcie was not sure why she stuck up for this mouse. Something about her was helpless, sure, but that was usually grounds for more teasing and pranks. Marcie felt like Corielle did not belong, but again, that was not an adequate reason. Still... oh well, what did it matter why? She could still help. Grinning mischievously, Marcie leaned over to whisper something in Vic's ear.

"...Let me remind you that the Sleeping Solution works with only a minuscule drop, so be careful not to drink even the slightest sip unless you have an inexplicable desire to be snoring into detention with me. Now, pair up. Miss Griffin," he snapped with a particularly evil sneer, "I said 'pair up,' which generally means only two people can work together. Miss Fireflow and Mr. Shaman already seem to have chosen themselves above you, so let's see." He purposely took his time looking around the room, letting Corielle squirm, the lit his eyes on Draco. "Yes, that would be appropriate. Mr. Malfoy, you will pair with Miss Griffin." Then, in a softer voice, he whispered to Draco, "Redeem yourself, boy." Then, in a swirl of robes, he retreated to his desk to observe the events.

Corielle felt like pounding the desk, but she restrained herself enough to rise huffily, then sit down next to Draco, avoiding his gaze as if the boy was a basilisk. For the days in the Malfoy Manor, Draco had learned enough decency to retrieve the ingredients himself and allow Corielle to seethe for a few minutes. After the crystal containers were lined up in order of use, Draco attempted a sort of apology.

"I never thought you'd react to it so violently," he said, unstoppering a bottle and pouring a tablespoon of warm milk into his cauldron.

"Now you know."

Draco glanced at her unreadable face, then said, "Why don't you just tell me why you wear that headscarf?"

"No."

"Come on."

"No."

"Please."

Corielle hesitated, the 'no' on the tip of her tongue. Somehow, knowing about the legendary Malfoy pride, she knew it was hard for him to say 'please.' Then again, he should not have been asking in the first place. And he _had_ tried to violate her privacy by force.

"No."

Draco slammed down one of the bottles of scorpion pincers, causing a few to scatter on the desk, and stood up indignantly.

"Why?"

Corielle stood, too. She was tall enough that she stared straight into his eyes.

"None of your business. Why don't you concentrate on your own problems? For instance, why are your shoes are on fire?"

Draco's eyes widened and he looked down in panic. Then he grimaced.

"I fell for it."

Corielle smirked. "The oldest trick in a mage's book. Look, why don't you just leave it, and let's continue with the potion without bringing it up again. I don't want to be here any more than you do."

"What makes you think I don't want to be here?"

Corielle muttered a single, effective word. "_Soma._"

Draco winced. "I hate it when someone has a weapon against me. All right, fine. But don't think I'm going to let up on you forever, Griffin."

Turning slightly towards the front of the classroom, Draco unobtrusively gave a small shrug, but it was enough for Snape to see and interpret. _Blasted girl._

Snape was lost in his grumbling thoughts as the class reached its end, and he failed to notice the uncustomary stillness in the room. That is, until the silence had reached even the most talkative of girls. Snape sat up suspiciously, glowering at the class. As usual, he caught the expressions on the Catastrophous Couple's faces, and he mentally kicked himself for lapsing into distraction. _Curse that girl. This is all her fault_. He braced himself for a prank.

Something ran up his leg. Snape gave an uncharacteristic yell, and swiped at his leg. A large, sleek, black rat fell out from under his robes, and he grabbed the vermin's tail. Breathing heavily, he took out his wand, and murmured, "_Engorgio_." The rat bloated to the size of a labrador. A few of the girls in the room shrieked, and almost everyone jumped the walls.

With a grim smile, he said, "_Imperio_."

"That's illegal," cried Corielle, frozen to her seat.

"Only against a fellow human, girl." He pointed at Corielle, and the rat responded accordingly, shuffling and snuffling to the desk where Corielle and Draco were watching in horror. Suddenly, Corielle's face went completely blank, and Draco was afraid she was about to faint. But Corielle slipped her wand out of her pocket and did the best thing anyone in that classroom could have done.

"_Reducio_," she said softly. The rat squealed as it shrank, and the Imperious Curse suddenly became too big for it. It thrashed and turned until Snape lifted his wand, and the curse fell away. The poor creature rushed to the edges of the walls and out of sight.

Snape wanted to punish Corielle in the old-fashioned way, with racks and thumbscrews, but, knowing that he had absolutely no grounds for torture, he whirled around to face Marcie and Vic.

"You two, ten points from Slytherin each. And as for the rest of you, leave, just leave." Snape felt his self-control stretching taut. Any moment now, it would break, and someone would get hurt.

Sensing their teacher's overt displeasure, the students scurried out of the classroom. Marcie and Vic were giggling at the reaction of their newest prank, but Corielle and Draco were not laughing.

Draco explained, "He almost never takes points off his own House, but those two have always been the exception."

"I'm not surprised," Corielle whispered. "They're probably the only people in the school who would risk themselves to embarrass Snape. I reckon he doesn't like to be embarrassed."

Draco shook his head. "He's Slytherin through-and-through, and none of us like to be embarrassed. By the way, good show in there."

Corielle smiled at the compliment. "I think I was on autopilot."

"On what?" Draco looked confused.

"Never mind, it's a Muggle term for not really paying attention to what you're doing, just doing it. I went to Muggle schools when I couldn't come here."

"I see," said Draco, pulling a face. "Anyway, I need to go. See you."

Corielle watched him go, and one phrase stood out in her mind guiltily: _"...and none of us like to be embarrassed."_

~888~

"Your sixth year of Defense Against the Dark Arts is perhaps the most rigorous and difficult course you will ever take at Hogwarts. Instead of just learning things in theory, you will experience some of the worst curses first hand, and you are expected to develop important wizarding skills required for the rest of your life including application, blocking, and receiving. This year, in contrast to previous years in this subject, you will not be given a great deal of homework. However, that does not mean this year will be devoid of work just because there is no way to study for the tests through previous assignments. They are all practical and you need the strength of mind, courage, and perseverance to master them."

Remus Lupin had, if possible, grown even thinner in the last four years and the circles under his eyes had become deeper. His face was gaunt and weary, and he viewed his Ravenclaw and Slytherin sixth years through recently acquired glasses. He had just begun taking a potion as a stimulant during the day to keep him awake. Years of being a werewolf were beginning to take their toll.

Corielle was sitting quietly in the buffer zone between the two Houses. The enmity between Slytherin and Ravenclaw was not as pronounced as with the other Houses, but one still had to be brave to sit near a House that was fundamentally an enemy. Slytherin had fangs, but Ravenclaw had talons. And, unlike the gentle Hufflepuffs, they weren't reluctant to use them. Fortunately for Corielle, she was yet to experience the enmity generally shown to Slytherinsthough she was already able to observe the contempt her own House had for the Ravenclaws; Marcie and Vic were sitting on the other side of her, sneering at vaious Ravenclaw students and talking incessantly. It didn't take Professor Lupin long to notice their inattention to his speech,  
and he acted immediately.

"Marcie and Victor, be warned, I have a permit to practice these curses without question, perhaps _even as punishment_ as I see fit. Unless you wish to be constantly on the receiving end as the resident class guinea pigs, you _will_ behave. Five points from Slytherin. Today's lesson is finished. And that was merely a warning- though I advise you not to goad me into carrying through with the threat." The class relaxed into conversations as they began to pack up their things. Corielle was in the middle of lifting her bag when she heard her name called out. " Miss Griffin, if I could have a word?." Lupin asked from the front of the classroom.

Tight-lipped, Corielle stood demurely and followed Professor Lupin into his office. She ignored Marcie's comment, which was called out after her, "You're getting popular, girl," though she did look back at her friend before Lupin closed the door.

Collapsing into a chair, Lupin dropped all pretense of being well enough to teach fifty-odd students and aged about forty years. He sighed and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Corielle just stood there about six feet away from him with her hands behind her back, waiting patiently for him to speak.

"How did it make you feel when you thought you were a Squib?"

The abruptness of the impertinent question made her hesitate before answering. When she did, it was with a coldness, and 'eye for an eye' attitude which startled even herself with its brutality.

"Something akin to how you felt when you found out you were a werewolf."

Lupin's head snapped up to survey Corielle's placid countenance. He saw no signs of hostility, and his sensitive nose- used to reading emotions like others read books- revealed nothing.

"So it was not pleasant?"

Corielle shook her head. She was chagrined, and she was intensely ashamed that she had snapped at Professor Lupin like that. _I know I'm on an edge because I'm in a completely new place, but that's no reason why I should be hateful to everybody. I'm acting like a Slytherin,_ she thought, feeling a little stupid.

Lupin sighed. "Maybe that's why the Headmaster wanted me to work one-on-one with you, and then some, though Filch might've been better for this kind of thing. However, if you need someone to talk to, I will hold an open-door policy in my private office exclusively for you. 'Wolfsbane' is my current password, and when I change it, you will be the first to know. You will find it adjacent to my classroom. Just speak to that ridiculous Pontemercy in the portrait, and he'll let you in."

Corielle, though touched by Lupin's concern, was confused. "Isn't that the Head of House's duty?"

"Well, technically, yes, but Professor Dumbledore believed that I would be someone with whom you could relate. I assumed it was because of the original degrading belief that you had no magic."

_"It's full moon waxing tomorrow night, baby. I can't be there for you." He nuzzled her neck and tested it's flesh with his teeth. "I'm going to miss you."_

"Miss Griffin?" Lupin was peering up at her. She started from the painful memory and spoke with more anger than was wont. "Either that or Albus Dumbledore is living up to the rumors that he is omnipotent and omniscient with everything involving Hogwarts." Her bitterness was cutting in its severity.

_"You'll never go to Hogwarts, Elle, and I want to show you what you're missing, what magic is really about..."_

Corielle shook her head. Remembering was going to do her no good ­ and nor was rejecting what was clearly an offer of professorial advice. Though she didn't meet Lupin's eyes, when she spoke her tone was one of quiet gratitude, laced with only the lightest touch of sarcasm. "That will be fine, Professor, thank you. I'll consider your generous offer." The dismissal was obvious. Turning, Corielle began to walk out of the office. Surprised at how well she had understood his own reluctance to deal with her, Lupin cocked his head at her retreating back and spoke again.

"Miss Griffin, I'm serious. Maybe I wasn't at the beginning; it was a duty, but there was something in your eyes just now..." Lupin trailed off at the awkward look on her face. "I'm sorry, go on back. Socialize for the next hour and a half until lunch. I'm sure it has already been an intensive day." Corielle was prepared to go, but the sincerity in his words made her stay.

Walking back to where he sat at his desk, she retrieved a large tube neatly labelled 'DADA.' "Here, Professor, my Defense Against the Dark Arts vacation essays for the last five years."

Lupin was startled as he reached for the tube. "You didn't have to get them done over the vacation, just over the course of the year."

Corielle shrugged. "What would the point of that be? I have other things that I'll need to do this year."

"The idea was that I would teach you enough for testing and essays."

The poor girl's normally pale face flushed a brilliant red that reminded Lupin strangely of Ginny Weasley.

"Don't fret about it, child," assured Lupin quickly, alarmed at the swiftness and violence of her reaction. "I'll grade these, and if there is merit to them, you won't have to worry about the essays or anything theoretical for the last five years."

"I hope you don't mind I went over the length requirements on most of the essays, and I had a little too much fun with the vampire essay, I think."

Lupin unrolled the thickest collection of parchments and scanned over a few paragraphs. He looked at Corielle, then back down at the essay.

In a hoarse, excited voice, he rasped, "I don't think you'll have to worry about testing out of my class, Miss Griffin." _We may even have another Hermione on our hands. Where did she find these legends?_ At the end of the parchments was a list of references. "Partial to Muggle gothic horror, are we?"

Corielle smiled, and from that solemn, shaken little face came a light that seemed almost too bright in contrast with her usual somber expression. "Guilty." And she began to thaw from her stiff, formal demeanor in the gentle rays of his subtle humor, his lack of a biting edge to his words, and the affinity with him that Dumbledore had so aptly seen. In other words, the affinity which arose from the characteristics he possessed ­ everything that Professor Snape was not.

Lupin glanced over his glasses at her dark gray eyes, a gesture strangely reminiscent of Dumbledore. "From what little I've observed," Lupin said, rolling the parchments back up, "I can discern very little of how you feel about my subject, despite the eloquence and reasoning within the essay. So tell me, if given a choice, would you take this class?"

Corielle was not sure what to say. Any prospect seemed impolite. _Then we shall have to unlearn you_, Snape had said.

"To tell you the truth, Professor, no. I'm interested in the theories, but I... I don't want to do the practicals."

"Why?"

Corielle opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

"Does it have anything to do with a dark creature teaching the class?" Lupin asked cautiously. Corielle shook her head forcefully, and Lupin sighed in relief. His nose detected a dash of panic in her scent.

_Between kisses, Corielle tried to break away. "Uncle Willem, your teeth are growing feral."_

_"A few more hours yet, Elle," he reassured, stroking her hair and letting his lengthening nails rip through the material of her blouse and into skin._

"Then why?"

There were several minutes of pure, torturous silence before Corielle finally coerced two words from her mouth: "Personal experience."

Lupin stared at her intensely. "You're a part of the Griffin family, aren't you? Catharine and Nathaneal Griffin?" Corielle nodded, looking frightened. "They're nice, respectable people. I remember them from school. It's not them, is it?"

Corielle shook her head again.

"You live with your grandmother and you mother's younger brother as well, don't you?"

Lupin studied his feet in thought and missed Corielle's desperate look.

"You would tell someone, wouln't you, if something happened to you?" He looked up, and started from his chair at the sight that met his eyes. "My goodness, child, are you all right?"

Corielle had fallen to her knees and covered her face. Lupin slipped out of his chair to crouch down next to her. She shrank away from him.

"Miss Griffin, what's wrong?"

Years of holding back tears prevailed and Corielle pulled her hands away form her face. To Lupin's gaze, there wasn't a trace of the usual symptoms of the desire to weep. Practice certainly made perfect. "I c-can't t-t-tell you." The look of concern on her Professor's face was enough to make her cry anyway, but she turned her head away.

"Miss Griffin, if you don't tell anyone, who can help you? If you don't feel comfortable speaking with me, confide in your Head, or the Headmaster."

Corielle looked at Lupin in disbelief at his suggestion that she spill her secrets to Snape and made a gesture of rejection. "No, it's all been taken care of. I don't have to... worry about It anymore."

Lupin took hold of Corielle's shoulder. "Worry about _what_?"

Corielle's face closed off, and Lupin knew he would not get any information from her now. The look was the same he had given Dumbledore for many, many years.

"When should the tutorials for the last five years' worth of practical curriculum take place? In the evening?" Corielle inquired, her visage stiff and her determination not to continue their discussion written in every line. Any visible clue as to what had just happened was a mere memory.

Lupin sighed, accepting the inevitable. He straightened up and helped Corielle to her feet. She let go of his hands quickly.

"I'd say during your lunch hour. I'm sure that your afternoon teachers would allow you to eat in their class. Your advanced Charms and Transfiguration professors will probably take up your evenings. I will go over your essays tonight to determine whether you'll place out of years one through five for theoretical defense. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon." He led her to the office door. Even through the stone, the cacophony of the class on the other side could be heard.

"Professor, what is your first name?"

"Why?"

"Curiosity."

"Remus."

Corielle mused, "The wolf-child. One of the twins in Italy whose grandfather was a god, and they were nursed by a she-wolf. And Lupin could be translated into Lupus, wolf in Latin, or literally Lupin, a flower, which I believe is poisonous and surprisingly used in the Wolfsbane Potion. Very interesting." She smiled sweetly before opening the door and stepping out of the office. She did not see the look of shock on Professor Lupin's face.

~888~

That night, precisely at curfew, Corielle stumbled into her dormitory. She had been tested practically in the more advanced levels of Transfiguration and Charms right after dinner, and to Professors Jenkin's and Shelton's surprise and delight, she had been able to do all but the most difficult of spells flawlessly. She had given them their essays, and they had both reacted more or less as Professor Lupin had. It was only as she fell onto her bed without even bothering to take off her clothes that she realized she had not given Professor Snape his vacation essays.

But she was too tired to knock on his office door to give them to him. The loss of energy from performing so many spells and the many memories that had plagued her throughout the day had totally exhausted her, and she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

~888~

A small figure walked next to the lake, a shocking silhouette against the bright rays of the moon. The lake was a near mirror, with little stirring made by the giant squid. In its reflection, the figure could see a man walking over the water. _A Bubble-Foot Charm, how strange_, she thought drowsily.

"Good evening, Professor," the man said, arriving at the shore where the figure stood.

"Good evening." They walked next to each other in silence for a few minutes. The tension between the two was palpable.

"Well," said the Professor finally, "I got you in."

"Yes," said the man. "And now, we want something else."

The Professor stopped in her tracks. Her face could not be seen, even in the moonlight, but the anguish in her voice was clear. "No, I told you, I'm not going to get involved."

The man grabbed the Professor's arm tightly. "I think you got yourself involved when you opened a mouse hole in the Apparition ward. You _will_ obey. Now, I inquire about a certain young woman. In Slytherin, I believe..." 


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_Wake up, dear._

_Who are you?_

_Who do you think I am?_

_What kind of a question is that? If I knew who you were, I wouldn't be asking. What are you doing here? Why are you in my head?_

_You're mine. I have chosen you. Or you have chosen me, I'll figure it out someday. Maybe that fool of a man will tell me, or I'll coerce the answer out of Dumbledore. He knew. He knew and knows everything, the blasted wizard. Either way, there's no escape for you, but you've been told that before, I see. Ooh, very interesting. You've had a hard life. We have something in common. He's on trial now, well, that's good. Tell me, Corielle, did it hurt? Were you ashamed, emotionally shattered, when he came to you?_

_Get out of my head._

_No, I think I'll just make you think you are crazy. That's always fun. I get so bored._

_Get out of my head!_

_Our head. In your dreams, you can't hide from me... anymore than you can hide from It. But there, you'll forget me in the morning, so sleep well, darling. You're life's going to become a nightmare, so you may as well have good dreams. If you chose me, or I chose you, there must be some good reason, so I'll cut you a little break. We don't want you to be damaged now, do we?_

_Get out get out get out get out..._

~888~

Corielle sat up in bed, shaking like a mouse. She could not remember her dream, but her head hurt terribly. Grabbing her dressing gown, she tiptoed down the spiral staircase from the girls' dormitories to the common room. There was no one about, and Corielle was glad. She liked her privacy, and she had not had enough of it, suspected that she would not have enough of it at Hogwarts. _Maybe I ought to ask Filch_, Corielle thought absentmindedly, remembering Marcie's less-than-flattering description of the cantankerous caretaker. _He should know a good empty classroom I could use as my own._

The fire in the hearth was still burning, and Corielle moved toward it longingly. Fireplaces had always been her haunts. Fires were strange and mysterious to her, and yet they were still a source of comfort. They were always changing; a flame never appeared twice. Their inconsistency soothed her.

A brush of cold air swept across the sleeve of the dressing gown which flowed over her forearm. Corielle turned quickly, flinching at the unexpected sight that met her eyes.

The Bloody Baron was approaching her silently. 

Corielle had seen him in the corridors between class, and Marcie and Vic had explained together that he was the supreme ghostly authority at Hogwarts. While unfamiliar with ghosts, Corielle was not afraid of them- they could not do much to hurt her- even when they looked as ghastly as this one did. She knew he was rather stoic and closemouthed, so she did not directly welcome him, only nodded and turned back to the fire. The ghost settled beside her, floating in a sitting position, the blood stains on his magestic tunic shimmering in the firelight.

"It's past curfew," the Bloody Baron announced in a baritone that was much like Snape's, his mouth barely moving.

"I had a nightmare, I think," Corielle replied in way of answering the unspoken question. "And it was too quiet in the dormitory. At least the fire makes noise."

"You are afraid?"

"I'm afraid of everything."

The Bloody Baron turned to face her, his normally blank face registering detached surprise. His blood-stained clothes glistened as he moved. "You cannot afford fear."

Looking back at the fire, the Baron continued, giving the longest raspy speech anyone would ever hear him say. "I know what goes on in my House. I know what goes on within the grounds of Hogwarts. I see things that sometimes even Dumbledore does not see. I keep myself out of most of what takes place, such as the affairs of the Dark Lord, for they were not my affairs when I was alive, much less so now. However, it has been two and a half centuries since one like you, an unlikely, fearful Slytherin that most think Slytherin himself would have shunned, has come to Hogwarts. The last one was another ghost here in Hogwarts that I rather like, so I understand your dilemmas. I understand the pain on your face, and the shame that led to it. I understand more than you know. Being dead, I am given certain... privilages. You are in great danger, young Miss Griffin. Beware, but do not be afraid."

Corielle's mouth hung open until she was aware of how impolite the Bloody Baron would find her reaction. With effort, she pursed her lips together, then swallowed before venturing what she hoped would be a deflective question.

"What... what are you talking about?"

The Baron shook his head. "I will say no more. The rest is for you to find out. But," he continued, holding up one iridescent finger, "should you need a listening ear without a ready mouth, talk to Peeves, the poltergeist. Follow the clatters of mischief, or ask Filch. Mention my name, and he will not harm you. He will treat you with respect, because of my protection, and he'll be surprisingly... understanding with you. I hope." Then he faded away, and Corielle was left with only the crackling of the fire for company.

Suddenly, a flapping of wings interrupted her musings. A dark, ragged owl flew to her chair, deposited a note, then flew away without so much as a 'by your leave.' She unfolded it, and read:

_Don't bother coming to early morning tutorials with me the rest of this week. I am otherwise engaged. Just drop your vacation essays on my desk, and I'll read them. I have heard many words of praise regarding your skills. I am pleased, but not entirely convinced. Be at our private classes all the earlier next week._

_Professor Snape_

~888~

That weekend at breakfast, Draco slipped next to Corielle, who was once again reading her History of Magic text.

"Well, well, well, fancy meeting you here," he said.

Corielle shut her book with a snap.

"Don't you have anything better to do than badger me?" she snarled, standing abruptly.

"No, wait," Draco replied quickly, grabbing her arm. "Don't go yet."

Staring at him warily, Corielle lowered herself back into her seat. Draco did not let go of her arm, and Corielle tried to tug it away discreetly, without seeming impolite. Draco showed no sign of recognizing her discomfort.

"You know, there's supposed to be a pre-seventh-year project in Potions this year as a preliminary for the graduation project, and we're supposed to be in pairs..."

Her response was abruptly to the point.

"No." 

Corielle pulled a bit more forcefully on her arm. Draco tightened his grip. Inwardly, he wondered why Snape had instructed him to harass her like this- he could not believe it really could be just to satisfy his professor's curiousity, but he could see no other reason for the instructions he had received. And he certainly was not going to make the mistake of failing to carry out what he had been told to do. So he tried an alternative approach.

"With whom will you do it then?" he murmured in her ear.

"Anyone but you," was Corielle's frantic answer. "Let me go."

His hand slid up her arm in an intentionally seductive manner- it had not failed him yet- hoping to rile some sort of definite response, and in doing so, brushed against the edge of her scarf, slipping it slightly off the top of her head.

With a strangled cry, Corielle abandoned her attempt at rigid self-control and ripped herself from his touch. Then she grabbed her empty breakfast plate, and, teeth bared, she crashed it on top of Draco's head with such force that it cracked in two, and Draco was partially knocked out. Taking advantage of his momentary unconsciousness, she grabbed her scarf from its dangling position and expertly tied it into a precarious knot, managing to do so before anyone could see the telltale wisps of hair that had escaped her carefully designed protection. Then, unrepentant to the violence she had unleashed on her fellow classmate, she turned her back on him and continued eating as though nothing had happened. 

It took Corielle several moments to realize that everyone in the Hall was watching, and those who were not laughing their heads off were openmouthed like beached fish. A few people at the Slytherin table clapped, but it was the majority of the Gryffindor table who were in fits. There were shouts of encouragement, and a red-headed girl was giggling into her scrambled eggs.

"You deserved it, Draco Malfoy," Ginny Weasley called as she wiped her chin, blatantly ignoring the cold stares her declaration earned her from several of the other Slytherins present in the Great Hall. Leaving the safety of her own table, she rushed over, tapped Corielle on her shoulder, and shook her hand with an air of one who is bestowing personal congratulation on a comrade in arms. Corielle looked at her as though she was crazy.

"Great moves with the plate there! Frankly, you are an inspiration to all the Gryffindors. We've wanted for years to beat Draco Malfoy into a bloody pulp, and you've at least made the first step in denting that damnable pride of his. We bow to you." Ginny's actions fit her words as she executed a melodramatic bow. Corielle turned to look down at Draco, who by now had recovered to full consciousness, though he was still sprawled out on the floor.

"You have enemies?"

Draco, having had insult added to injury, muttered, "You have no idea."

Suddenly, a shadow loomed over Corielle, Ginny, and Draco. 

"Is there something wrong?" came Professor Snape's glacially sarcastic tones, clearly expressing his  
disapproval of the sight that met his eyes.

Rubbing his head and trying to retrieve his dignity, Draco winced and replied, "No, Professor, it was my fault."

"Miss Weasley, I suggest you return to your House table."

Snape did not even spare a glance at Ginny as he dismissed her. The red-head immediately complied, shying away from the condescending glare. Snape waited until she was well out of earshot before he continued.

"Miss Griffin, Mr. Malfoy, explain yourselves."

Corielle looked at her plate. 

Draco sneaked a look at her, saw her trembling chin, then answered for both of them. "I did something I was not permitted to do. I deserved my punishment."

Snape rested his eyes on Draco, raking his gaze across the growing bump accented by his pallor, letting him squirm a bit, then turned back to Corielle. He waited for her to reply, but she kept her mouth shut. Like Draco, he did not miss the shaking of her chin, and he wanted to slap her for it.

He released a rush of air, and said in a tone of unmistakable exasperation, "Get yourself to the hospital wing, Draco; that goose egg is frightful." 

Draco scurried off, inching around the forbidding Professor. Though tempted to wait and see the conclusion of Snape's discussion with Corielle, he knew better than to disobey orders from his Head of House ­ especially when he uttered them in _that_ tone of voice. 

For his part Snape could not believe that Draco still could not relieve Miss Griffin of her scarf. _It was just a piece of cloth, for Chrestomanci. Oh well, If you want something done, you've got to do it yourself._ His gaze hardened on the elusive Corielle.

Corielle waited for the reprimand, but when it did not come, she thought for a moment he had stalked off. She glanced up hopefully to see if he had gone. He had not, but he stood like a sentinel, patient for an explanation. She made to wring her hands, but grabbed her robes to prevent the habit from expressing itself.

Then, from behind her, there was a flurry of motion, and with a distinctive noise- _Myup!_- a ginger tabby jumped onto Corielle's lap, and turned into a circle to eye the dark man who dared to stare at her girl.

Corielle was momentarily distracted from her impending doom. Stroking her tabby gently, she addressed it  
reprovingly.

"Gwynllion! I thought you had lost your way. You're not allowed in here." 

The cat showed no sign that her girl had spoken, but continued the staring contest with Professor Snape. Fur was beginning to rise on the ridge of her back and her tail was puffing out. A low hiss emerged from her throat, and Snape's eyes rose sardonically.

"Gwynllion," Snape murmured. "An appropriate name. She does not approve of me."

Corielle stroked her cat's fur pensively. "She usually likes people. The only other people she does not like are..." Corielle trailed off and pushed Gwynllion, who spoke in protest and sauntered off huffily, from her lap, her face becoming hot. Clearing her throat, she faced the inevitable. 

"I'm sorry I hit Draco, Professor." She leaned down and gently picked up the split plate from the floor. "He did something that I had not expressly warned him against, and I just reacted."

Snape took the fragments and examined them. "Quite a reaction, but knowing Mr. Malfoy, he probably deserved it. However, for not responding earlier, five points from Slytherin."

"But..."

"No 'buts,' Miss Griffin. 'Buts' do not work with me, and if you intend to pursue the issue further, your butt will be out of Hogwarts before you can say it again." 

He looked her over, from her thin hands to her silk-covered head. Once again, he wondered how to  
achieve his ends without seeming to be personally involved. Then he had an idea.

"Come with me, Miss Griffin, into the Entrance Hall."

Corielle obeyed, wondering what horribly devious punishment Snape planned to mete out there. When he had shut the door, blocking out the sounds of gossip about the recent events, Snape whirled around, glowering, with a slight dangerous smile on his unattractive face.

"That scarf is a violation of the dress code here. It clearly states that pointed witch _hats_ are to be used as day-wear. That scarf is not a hat. Take it off and give it to me. I will confiscate it."

Corielle's mind whirled in horror. This new twist had never occurred to her. Was Snape lying? But why  
would he do that? It must be regulation, as he had stated so coldly. And yet, even knowing that, her hands  
refused to move towards the scarf covering her head. She couldn't... she wouldn't... Her breath began to quicken.

"Take it off, Miss Griffin."

Corielle still made no move to remove her scarf. Snape's eyes narrowed as he glared down at her inert form. He was surprised that she hadn't leapt to obey him ­ the Mouse, as he considered her to be ­ certainly didn't have it in her to defy her own Head of House. She was probably just rigid with fear. Well, he'd say something which would spur her to action. 

"Take it off, Miss Griffin, or I will take it off for you."

Corielle's hands remained clenched at her side, and Snape marvelled at her persistence. Once again, he was struck by a palpable wave of curiosity to discover what was so important about keeping the scarf on. 

Her determination to wear it at all times, especially when he explicitly ordered it off, certainly indicated that it was more than a normal teenager's preference for a particular kind of accessory. No, the Mouse's head scarfs hid something. The question was ­ what did they hide?Was she bald, gray? Was she disfigured? Was it religious? Was it psychological? Well, whatever it was, he was about to find out.

"This is your last warning, Miss Griffin. Take... it... off."

At this ultimatum, the Mouse in Corielle disappeared. As she raised her head to glare at the Potions Master, her eyes burned with a fierce determination.

"No."

"Ten points from Slytherin," Snape said, his mouth curling into a sneer. 

And then he reached for her scarf.

Corielle's hand swung out and grabbed one of the plate shards from Snape and held it in front of her like a weapon. She swiftly thrust it against his hand, and drew blood immediately.

Snape stared at his wound, aghast. This mouse had struck him, had sliced him without a thought, and she looked ready to do it again. His face twisted as he fought to keep his face passive and emotionless.

"Don't... touch... me... Professor. I know everyone wants to invade my private life, but my life will remain precisely that: _private_. And you are not to invade that privacy. Understand?"

Her transfiguration from meek to strong frankly amazed the Potions Master enough to retreat a step. This was enough for Corielle to transform once again to her original self, and her face fell. The plate in her hand followed suit and shattered on the ground. Snape could see the tears in her eyes, and he wanted to shake her until he saw that glimmer of rebellion that she had shown to him. But the wound in his hand was enough to convince him of the virtue of patience.

"Understood, Miss Griffin, but I urge you to reconsider your actions when faced with these predicaments. Fifty points from Slytherin.

He swiftly pushed the Dining Hall doors open and made his way back to the teachers' table, cradling his left hand.

Corielle slipped through the slowly-closing doors, wanting in all the world to find a hole and pull it in after her. Instead, she went to the Slytherin table and sat down, staring at the place her plate had been. It was then she realized she was still holding part of the plate section she had dropped, and at its tip was a small drop of blood. She guiltily transfigured it into a fork and set it down.

"That was bloody brilliant," said Marcie from Corielle's left. "You even had us lose points." She turned to Vic. "Maybe we should induct her into our mission of driving people insane."

"No, don't," Corielle said, making up her mind, standing, and grabbing her bag, her eyes noticeably red. "I'm leaving." True to her word, Corielle headed to the double doors leading out of the Great Hall.

_I attacked a teacher, I attacked a teacher, I attacked a teacher, oh I am in such big trouble, Professor Snape's going to have his revenge, I just know it, I attacked a teacher, I attacked a teacher, but he shouldn't have done that, I thought I had made it clear, oh I attacked a teacher_...

"Wait!" called Ginny. Grabbing the arm of the boy next to her, she waved for Corielle to stop. Corielle complied, and when Ginny freed herself and the boy from the bench, she rushed over and introduced herself. "I'm Ginny Weasley. And this," she said, gesturing to the boy, "is Griffin Coriel."

"But that's my... that's my name, Corielle Griffin. Were you the one's talking during the Sorting?"

Griffin nodded. "I was surprised. How do you spell your first name?"

Corielle explained, "It's with the French 'elle,' for girl. My dad promised this man, a Muggle, on his death bed that he'd name his first child after him. The man's name was Cory, but dad wasn't planning on a female first child. So mum had her way with a French name, and dad was able to keep his promise. It's pretty corny, but it's true."

"That's such a coincidence, though. My grandfather's name is Griff, if you can believe it, and dad wanted to name me after him, but mother didn't want to give me a name that sound like a dog's cough, so they compromised."

Corielle gave a guarded smile.

Ginny, with her friendly disposition, slid her arm through Griffin's. "You know, for a Slytherin, you're not that bad. I mean, you decked Draco, you kind of reminded me of Hermione in our History of Magic class, and you two have the same name."

"Mum and Dad were Gryffindors. I'm still waiting for the Howler. They haven't mailed me yet."

Ginny and Griffin laughed. "Well, we'll see you later, Corielle."

"Sure," Corielle said stiffly. Making friends was not her virtue, and though she did not mind those two Gryffindors, she still was a little rusty on amiability. Then she followed through on her words, and left the Hall to start on her potions due in a few days.

"Well, well, what's this? A student getting ready for classes? What shall I do to hinder you?" A colorful, wickedly smiling ghost jumped out of the wall and stopped upside-down in front of Corielle. "Shall I fly in circles until you become so dizzy you can't walk? Shall I try and pull you through the wall? Or shall I strip you naked just as the rest of the Hall comes in?"

"Go away," Corielle said, her voice breaking. She was ready to cry from everything, and this ghost wasn't helping.

"Go away?" the ghost cackled. "Peeves never releases his victims."

Corielle's head jerked up in surprise. "Peeves? Peeves the Poltergeist?"

"One and the same!" Peeves said, sweeping an exaggerated bow. Then, screaming, he dived at her.

"The Bloody Baron said I should talk to you!" Corielle shouted.

Peeves froze in mid-dive.

"The Baron?" He turned rightside-up and peered suspiciously into the red-eyed girl's face. "Why would he do that?"

Corielle said tremulously, "He said I am like you when you were at Hogwarts."

Peeves shifted back in a melodramatic surprised gesture. Then the Bloody Baron's face crept into is mind, and he winced.

"I'm going now." He flipped backward and headed through the wall.

"But wait..." But he was gone.

As he floated through the castle, he glanced back at Corielle. The Bloody Baron had given her protection from him by the mere mention of his titled name.

He did not have a clue as to why.

But she had interrupted his rampage, and now he rushed off to break some glass over which Filch could yell at him. That would make him feel better. If anything, it would get rid of those pesky memories.

The look in her eyes had been so familiar.

~888888~

-One of the scenes I used I borrowed from Anne of Green Gables where Anne hits Gilbert over the head with her slate after he insulted her hair. I thought Malfoy desperately needed it.

-A gwynllion is a type of fairy that sits on the rocks of the mountains and stares unnervingly at weary travellers. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

And so the weeks passed, with Corielle avoiding the Slytherin common room whenever she could, seeking refuge in Professor Lupin's private office, where she was eagerly welcomed every time she came. Lupin enjoyed the conversations with his young student, especially regarding her odd obsession with vampires, both fabricated and real, but he was aware that it would be better for her to spend time with her own peers. He could not continue to shelter her from her obvious revulsion of her own House. After skirting around the issue for some time, Lupin tried to subtly persuade her to go back, or seek protection from her own friends.

"You know, Corielle, when I first invited you to my office, I thought you were a Ravenclaw."

"Understandable," Corielle said pleasantly, twirling in the maneuvrable chair adjacent to her Professor's. "I've been called an unlikely Slytherin by more than one person now." Corielle was absolutely relaxed speaking of her strange House placing with her DADA professor. She had eventually come to enjoy the heart-to hearts as much as Lupin did, reluctant though she was for male company.

"But as a Slytherin, you do have an obligation to your House to be a part of its activities," Lupin said, attempting to break his opinion to her gently.

Corielle's previously warm countenance hardened at the mention of her placement.

"Maybe so, Professor, but I've had enough of them."

"You cannot avoid them forever."

"I can try."

She had not responded again to any mention of Slytherin, and Lupin recognized a thread of stubbornness he had not expected in her. He decided that if the Severus Snape was not going to initiate the subject of the continuous fraternizing with other Houses his own student insisted on, Lupin would enlighten the thick-headed Potions Master.

But the thick-headed Potions Master enlightened him first.

~888~

Snape had been watching Corielle carefully since the morning she had assaulted him though more often that not at a distance: in their private, guarded tutorials which she was quickly finishing, in the crowded classroom, in the Great Hall. He had originally expected that he could observe her in the chilling atmosphere of the common room, but he had all too quickly noticed her aversion to spending time with those of her own House.

So Snape was obliged to watch Corielle in the spare moments he had. He noted that she continued to talk with the Catastrophous Couple occasionally at the Slytherin table, though she was increasing her visits at the Gryffindor table, ostensibly to be with Ginny and Griffin. Sometimes, Marcie and Vic would join her. The rest of the table usually gave the Slytherins a wide berth, but this was for practical reasons as well as ideological ones. After all, Marcie and Vic were extraordinarily like the Weasley twins and left a remarkable quantity of pranks in their wake on those unfortunate enough to be spotted by the two. Ginny got along with them well for precisely that reason.

Spending more and more of his spare time covertly keeping tabs on his least likely student, Snape found himself recognizing more and more of her character. He grew to become familiar with her more open characteristics ­ and none was more obvious than her timidity and caution. He caught her feeding a mouse one evening in the Great Hall as he walked past the Slytherin table. Corielle was totally immersed in watching the tiny creature as it darted around gathering tidbits of food. She tried to touch it, and it had snapped at her before realizing this human meant no harm. Quivering, the animal had allowed Corielle to stroke it and give it a bit of her cinnamon bread. He had often thought of her as Mouse in his mind whenever she was near, and this confrontation between her namesake and herself amused him when he found the similarities between the mouse's and her own mannerisms.

Once, in a Potions class, Snape slipped and, instead of calling Corielle by her appropriate name, called her Mouse. Corielle had been horrified, but Marcie and Vic had thought it a great joke and quickly adopted the nickname. Soon, regardless how she felt about the name, Corielle had become Mouse to all those who resided in Hogwarts. Even the rest of the teachers, including a reluctant Professor Lupin, called her by the name Mouse.

No one knew what Corielle thought of her new appellation. She never gave an opinion, and no one remembered ever asking her for one. But she certainly did not appear to be bothered by it. At this point, she did not care one way or the other what people called her. She still avoided the Slytherin common room and socialized little, but when circumstance dictated she had to interact with others, such as partnering in a classroom, she did so with a restrained calm which seemed to be like an invisible suit of armor. She treated students and teachers alike with a detached respect, and rarely had any unpleasant encounters with anyone. Her coolness annoyed Snape to his stretching point.

Corielle had also seemed to amend with Draco, but the two were almost too polite with each other. Certainly, Draco was no longer of any use to an irate Professor Snape. As the boy had calmly explained to Snape, a concussion was enough to countermand even his Head's orders. And as much as Snape did not want to agree, he saw Draco's point. So he agreed to relieve Draco of his assignment for a while, demanding only that the boy pass along any information he considered to be important.

Corielle continued to do well in all her classes except Defense Against the Dark Arts, in which she continually skipped classes to avoid the practical days. She provided Professor Lupin with essays on the different curses that earned her enough to make a little more than passing marks. Her tutorials with her teachers slowly diminished as she completed every years' work. Only Snape insisted on continuing her tutorials, making her learn more advanced Potions than her present year demanded.

Snape knew she wanted to question his decision to teach her further, especially when she was more than aware that he loathed her, but Corielle never questioned his motives, being the polite girl she was.

Snape wanted to ignore that he made his young Slytherin stay because she still intrigued him in his search to find some sort of attribute besides her cleverness that was unique to Slytherin and because he desired to see how much information she could retain. She was horribly talented in the area of Potions, Charms, and Transfiguration, and the teacher part of Snape wanted to explore her talent.

He had spoken to Dumbledore about his issue of Corielle, but Dumbledore had only encouraged him to try and reach her in what he called Snape's notoriously subtle way.

Snape noticed that the ancient headmaster was looking remarkably more energetic than he had been at the beginning of the year. So much better that Snape had not felt he needed to restrain himself in protesting Dumbledore's conclusions regarding how to deal with Corielle Griffin. Snape had ranted and raved against the Headmaster's advice, but Dumbledore had refused to change his mind, turning a frustrated Snape out of his office.

In the end, as he had suspected he would have to, he forced himself to turn to his old schoolboy enemy.

He and Lupin had an odd relationship now. Ever since Voldemort had been killed, Lupin had extended a hand of truce, and Snape had quietly accepted it for the benefit of the friendship. They continued to snap at each other in the teachers' lounge and in their own time as well, but they both accepted each other. Snape continued to make the Wolfsbane Potion for the DADA Professor, and Lupin would sometimes sit across from Snape in the Potions dungeon as he was working, grading his own papers. Dumbledore watched their friendship with removed bemusement as neither would admit to the affilition they shared. But the animosity between them had certainly simmered to a dull flame.

Now, Snape was left with the knowledge that Lupin was the only possibility to reach Corielle. To see why she so ferociously kept those head scarves covering her head, and why she stood an arm's length from anyone, and why the only skin he ever saw was on her scarred hands and her face, which was usually hidden anyway by the shadows. He had not missed her frequent visits to the werewolf.

Reclining in his private office chair, Snape threw the Conjuring Powder into the thinly flickering hearth, oblivious and apathetic to the fact that the fire could not succeed in warming the arctic temperatures of his office which contained all the most expensive and rare potions ingredients.

"Lupin, a word."

Seconds later, Lupin staggered out of the fireplace, dusting the ashes from his robes.

"Severus, there must be a more convenient and less filthy way of conjuring me. You know my private office is open to you. What do you need?"

"Information about a student of mine."

Lupin nodded and said mildly, "I was considering myself whether to come to you for the same reason. I am aware that she is somewhat of a sensitive issue with you."

Snape nodded curtly.

"She hates you, I think."

"I'm sure she does," murmured Snape silkily. "The opinion is mutual.

Lupin arched an eyebrow, clearly not understanding Snape's poor opinion of his own brilliant student. "She's a wonderful girl. A little quiet, a little restrained, and there's something in her past that still lingers on her scent. But she doesn't mention her troubles, and I don't ask."

Snape snorted. "Blasted etiquette. It gets you nowhere."

"Well, loathing is doing no more for you. It only repels her."

"I want to know a few things about her," Snape said, interrupting Lupin before he could begin the famous ethics speech he tended to regale on Snape's head at every opportunity.

"You'll have to obtain them another way," Lupin said, walking back to the hearth. "I'm busy."

"I'm busy when I have to brew that potion for you."

Lupin turned. "Petulance is not flattering to you, Severus. If you really want to know about Mouse, ask her yourself. She's in your House, not mine, and besides, I still hold seniority over you. So I advise you to use your own methods yourself instead of using others for your ends."

Without any further word, Lupin flung internal Hogwarts Floo powder into the fireplace and said, "Lupin's private office."

When the DADA professor was out of sight, Snape pounded his desk with a fervent curse. To protect his pride, he could not tell Lupin of Corielle's extremes when confronted with questions, and finally actions, to acquire information from her.

Again, he slammed his fist on the desk, imagining the Mouse's face beneath his hand.

~888~

Corielle rushed through the halls to her Care of Magical Creatures class. She rather liked the class. Animals were so much more predictable and understandable than people. And Hagrid liked her, and he often entrusted her with some of the more difficult tasks.

Today, she had been distracted by two younger Gryffs in a heated debate about the first Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, and they had started showing their animosity toward the quiet, mousy Slytherin. She had managed to escape the verbal struggle with few minutes to spare.

The bell rang through the school, and Corielle mentally kicked herself, and a thought that she should have cursed them out of her way crossed her mind before she trampled over it, mortified.

"Well, well, well, what have we got here, my sweet? A student out of class," Filch said to his cat, Mrs. Norris, staring at Corielle with a rather cruel smile, his snaggle-teeth looking like fangs to Corielle's frantic eyes.

"Mr. Filch, I'm trying to get to my Magical Creatures class, and I've never been tardy before. Could you...?"

Filch cackled. "Just let you go? Why would I want to do that? Excuse or not, you're breaking school rules. That merits a detention with your Head, girl."

Corielle pleaded with the caretaker, "Oh no, please, it won't happen again..."

"Never mind your begging. Come with me." He took her upper arm in his arthritic pincers and began dragging her to his office. Mrs. Norris trailed behind them, her lantern-like eyes looking for more signs of rule-breaking.

A great CRASH! echoed through the hall. Filch let go of Corielle, who had been trying to put some distance between herself and the bitter caretaker, and bellowed at the top of his lungs, "PEEVES, I'LL HAVE YOU THIS TIME!"

Peeves popped out of the wall next to them and grabbed a handful of what little hair Filch had left with his right hand. With his other, he held Mrs. Norris's tail, the poor cat yowling in painful protest. Chuckling at his new joke, he shook his prisoners and looked at Corielle. The evil smile on his face slipped a little, but with a cock of his head, he indicated that Corielle should leave.

Corielle mouthed a confused but sincere "thanks" before following the poltergeist's directions.

She hurried onto the grounds toward Hagrid's hut.

"You're late, Mouse," Draco said, helping her stand against the gasps that wracked her body.

"I was detained by two Gryffindors and Filch. Peeves helped me."

"Peeves?" asked Marcie incredulously. "When was the last time he helped anyone?"

Corielle shrugged, not wanting to question a good thing. She thought maybe the Bloody Baron had something to do about it. She turned to Hagrid, who was introducing his class to a centaur and forest elf, who were going to show them some of their usual pets.

"Did you see the _Daily Prophet_ today?" asked Draco in a whisper. Corielle shook her head. He gave her an article.

**_Azkaban Breakout_**

_Since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's downfall, witches and wizards have been feeling secure and safe with the imprisonment of the Death Eaters and most of their compatriots. But with the expulsion of the dementors from the Azkaban hold, defenses on the wizard prison have weakened considerably. This faltering of security have made it possible for some of You-Know-Who's followers to break into the stronghold and free a number of proclaimed Death Eaters and their lesser-known lower ranks, the Black Dogs and Cats' Paws. Freed prisoners include Lucius Malfoy, the Lestranges, Walden Macair, Peter Pettigrew, Crevin Goyle, John Crabbe, Jesse Baddock, Rebecca Gross, Caroline Farland, and Willem Griffin, the most recent addition of Azkaban, only convicted two and a half months ago for rape. The Ministry of Magic urges any who know any information or whereabouts of the escaped convicts are urged to tell the Department of Magical Emergencies._

Corielle's eyes widened as she read the article. Her heart stopped and her face blanched at the blatant evidence in front of her. She looked around her. No one had mentioned anything yet.

_And no one will_, she determined. "_Incendio_," she whispered, setting the parchment on fire.

"Hey!" Draco yelped, jumping aside.

"My apologies, Draco, my mistake," Corielle said coolly. Draco looked at her from the corner of his eyes, ignorant at the inward struggle, and its reasons, Corielle was fighting: her fear and her rage.

When Draco turned back to the lesson, Corielle found she could not concentrate. Her mind with just filled with memories, and the knowledge that anyone (_Snape_) could put two and two together, her uncle's conviction and the time when she had found her magic, and know everything. This worry began to build up until it had to go somewhere, her mouth in a frustrated scream, or bursting out of her in the form of accidental magic like her beginning magical circumstances. She kept her lips pursed with the effort to hold in the sudden rush of power.

The power pushed out of her like heated fingers of magic.

Every single piece of _Daily Prophet_ parchment within the Hogwarts grounds was set on fire, obliterating the incriminating article.

~888~

Halloween morning found Corielle outside Snape's classroom office door. She rapped smartly like she always did. The door opened on its own, just like it always did.

Professor Snape was passing in front of his desk. He had had a bad night. He had heard through the Hogwarts grapevine of the breakout, but his copy of the _Daily Prophet _had burst into flames just as he had begun to read the article. He had ordered another copy, but the minute his fingers had touched it, it too had burned. He suspected strong magic which lingered in the air after the incineration, but he had no inkling whose. But the raw power was strangely reminiscent of another's, someone impossible.

Corielle's entrance did nothing to improve his mood. Her submissive nature continued to rub him the wrong way and he was frustrated that he had so little control over his emotions where she was concerned. Naturally, this meant taking his self-disgust out on the person who, it seemed, was causing all of his problems just now, and so Snape pounced on her almost immediately, swooping down into her face.

"You're late, Miss Griffin."

"I'm sorry, sir, I was just..."

"Excuses are unexceptable, Miss Griffin. There, I have your essay questions prepared for you."

Snape gestured to his desk where five long sheets of parchment lay in wait.

"You will start promptly, and you will not go to the next Potions class. You will stay in here even after you finish, but you will still be accountable for the work done within the class, and Draco cannot help you. Maybe that will prevent any future tardiness."

"Yes, sir," Corielle whispered. She knew she had not been late; in fact, she had been five minutes early, just like always, but Snape was not one to be crossed, especially in such a foul mood. She had no idea she was only contributing to it.

Snape was furious. If she had been indignant at the injustice and demanded fairness, he might have had more patience, but the Mouse's meekness drove him very close to madness.

He pointed a finger to the chair in front of his desk.

"Sit," he commanded.

She did.

He sat adjacent to her and proceeded to correct his first years' terrible essays. In the light of more work and the joy of every point taken from Gryffindor, Snape relaxed a bit. Corielle settled into her most comfortable intellectual frame of mind, which naturally included blocking out the fact that Snape was even in the same room with her. The less attention she paid him, the easier it was to get her work done. 

For some time, there was silence in the room. Neither spoke, or acknowledged the presence of the other. However, in Snape's particularly vindictive mood, he could hardly be expected to keep the peace.

Nevertheless, Snape did not say anything more until he looked at what Corielle was writing while picking up a new essay to grade.

"Why do you insist on such thin writing? No one could possibly read a word."

"I apologize, Professor, but I... can't write any other way."

_"No, Corielle, that's wrong. You're supposed to sip the soup without making a sound!" _

_Grandma's gold-tipped cane whipped onto Corielle's hands, causing her to lose her grip on her spoon. The utensil crashed into the soup, splashing her, arousing Grandma's wrath once again. Corielle winced against the following blows._

Snape's voice went dangerously soft.

"Are you contradicting me, Miss Griffin?"

Corielle stammered, "N-no, s-s-sir."

Snape stood and walked around the desk until he was directly in front of her. Leaning over slowly, he growled, "I won't tolerate contradiction."

"No, s-sir."

In his frustration with her servile manner, Snape finally succumbed to what he had wanted to do for weeks and lifted his hand. His fist slammed onto the desk, causing inkwells, parchment, and other assorted things to jump.

"Why won't you act like a Slytherin, Mouse?" he snarled.

But when he had raised his hand, Corielle had fallen from her chair and covered her face with her arms in a universal gesture of self-protection. 

In shock, Snape calmed. When he next spoke, it was in a much softer, if not necessarily gentler tone. 

"I'm not going to hit you, Mouse."

At the use of her new nickname, Corielle's careful, stiff poise shattered. She just buried her face in her arms and burst into burning tears. Snape could see the emerald green slacks underneath the hem of her robes, the first sign of anything underneath the roomy robes she wore.

Kneeling down, he asked in a slightly rough voice, "What on earth is the matter, girl?"

When she said nothing, Snape hissed once again, "What are you doing here? You've been terrified of your own shadow ever since you came. For the life of me, I don't know why you were chosen for Slytherin. You're raw, you're polite, you have no noticeable ambition, courage, or cunning..."

"I don't know why I was Sorted into your House of all places either, Professor," Corielle sobbed, flinching away from him. "I don't even know what possessed me to come to Hogwarts. I should have known I could never run. I should have stayed home."

Corielle suddenly stood so abruptly, Snape fell back, but he followed her suit.

"Look at me, Professor," she screamed, stretching out her hands, palms up, so he could see the jagged cuts gracing her wrists. _Self-inflicted_, Snape realized in horror. "I'm not exactly Slytherin material here! I was fooling myself to think It wouldn't follow me here, even with magic. And now, he's back." Corielle grabbed her book bag and, beginning to snuffle and gurgle from crying so hard, she fled, leaving Snape staring after her with his mouth hanging open.

Then his potion-making overlarge nose, blessed with an extraordinary sense of smell all Potions Masters required, detected the same incongruent scent that Lupin had discerned from Corielle's scent. Except Severus Snape recognized it.

It was the smell of a werewolf.

And the werewolf was not Lupin, nor was it Corielle.

Through further sniffs, Snape put together a narrative that explained everything. He hurried from his office, out of Hogwarts and into Hogsmeade.

He had a newspaper article to read.

~888888~

-I would suppose this is too small to really need a disclaimer, but I guess "I am not Slytherin material here!" came from Anya's exclamation in _Anastasia_ when she said, "I am not grand duchess material here, Dmitri!"

Beyond that, I'm enjoying myself immensely. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Several hours later, with his hands clutching a ragged _Daily Prophet_ and an old piece of parchment, Snape hurried back to his private office, shut the door, and read over what he had only skimmed before.

**_Black Dog Convicted_**

_The Ministry of Magic has finally found one of the remaining loyal servants of the Dark Lord, a notorious Black Dog, the rank immediately below a Death Eater within the Dark Lord's inner circle. Accused of incestual rape, Willem Griffin, a member of the prominent Griffin family and a werewolf from early age, has been convicted of the charge and found to be a member of the Dark Lord's society._

_He did not deny the charges, but stood up proudly to take credit in what he had done. And according to his account, he had done quite a bit._

_"We had no idea," said Catharine Griffin, the convict's sister. "Not until our daughter told us. We did so much for him, even gave him the family name, but instead, he betrayed our trust. And I'd always thought they had just gotten along well." Nathaneal Griffin, an ex-Auror and the convict's brother-in-law declined comment, but judging his uncomfortable face, he was embarrassed and furious that such dark doings had taken place right under an Auror's nose._

_The victim, the Griffins' daughter and an alleged Squib, declined comment as well, refusing to reveal herself to our _Daily Prophet _reporter, but it is said that the incest could have been going on for more than five years at threat to her life with some of the worst curses imaginable._

Then he read the more recent _Daily Prophet _article that he had written for himself on a spare bit of parchment. Once he had finished, he let out a deep breath.

No wonder Mouse was scared of him.

Once again, he threw the internal Hogwarts Conjuring powder into his fireplace.

"Lupin, come in here now!" Snape bellowed.

Coughing and spluttering ashes out of his mouth, Remus Lupin stepped out of the fireplace.

"What now, Severus? I've told you, deal with her yourself."

Snape thrust the two articles under Lupin's eyes and said, "Read."

Staring at Snape suspiciously, the DADA teacher began to read. As he did, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

"S-severus, th-this explains everything. The clothes, not wanting to be seen or touched, not coming to my curse classes, her understanding about my... condition... It all makes sense." Lupin looked up from the parchment. "Is this why we couldn't read the _Daily Prophet _in the teachers' lounge?"

Snape stared at the fire, brooding.

"She can react dangerously when she feels threatened, and with enough panic, yes, she could have been the cause of that sudden burst of accidental magic. Draco told me that her first sign of magic was about two months ago, and look at date on the article. Maybe four weeks before she showed what she truly was. Maybe, instead of initiating the transition from Muggle to magic, the emotions when she was being... compromised... caused her magic to be stunted and slow."

"But, Severus, what _can _we do? She doesn't want help, I can tell you that. She may be Mouse, but even a mouse can be fiercely obstinate."

Snape stroked his chin, still staring into the fire. "We can't do much at all, considering she's leaving right now."

Lupin's head snapped up. "What?!"

"I did something that upset her, then told her something that made her conclude that home was more welcoming."

Snape looked up coolly to see Lupin's fist connect with his left cheek.

"You slimy git! You have no sensitivity whatsoever! For someone so subtle, you should have seen that that approach blatantly failed long ago! You saw how she hated to be near you, and yet you make her come to you everyday for pointless tutorial. Dumbledore and I decided to leave you alone and let you do as you saw fit, but it looks like you've gone too far, and for Circe's sake, she's _your own bloody Slytherin!_"

Snape stared at Lupin for a minute in a most unseemly way before shaking himself free of the stupor into which he was settling.

"Lupin," he murmured silkily, his dignity a bit sprained, "I assure you, she will not leave these grounds. I will have Draco keep her here while you and I sort things out. Then," Severus narrowed his eyes, "_you_ will help her."

"Severus..." Lupin said angrily, "I will not..."

"Only for a short time. Do you remember anything from your days in fencing?"

Lupin looked startled for a second, then replied slowly, "Yes."

"I want you to teach her that particular fine art to every last detail."

"But you'd be a better teacher than myself. After all, you're more skilled at swordplay than I am."

Snape smiled grimly, "Precisely."

"I don't understand what you're trying to do, Severus."

"You don't need to, Lupin, but suffice it to say that I am trying to make her the Slytherin she should be. Fair enough?"

Lupin sniffed. "It's about time you decided to take that attitude instead of hating her for what she was."

Snape glared at Lupin until the werewolf looked away. "Petulance is not flattering on you, Lupin," Snape growled.

Lupin shrugged sheepishly.

"Now, Lupin, listen closely. In approximately fifteen minutes, I want you to retrieve Mouse from the entrance to the common room. You'll find her there with Draco. Then I want you to take her to the trophy room, and start teaching her the basics. When your day of training has ended, command her never to miss one of your classes again."

"I've already tried convincing her."

"Then try again," said Snape mercilessly. "Use your charm and wiles to convince her. Now go. I'll deal with keeping Miss Griffin at Hogwarts."

~888~

Draco was headed down the dungeon hall, thinking about a nice relaxing evening on one of the Slyth common room's few couches when a great black thing swooped down on him, grabbed him, and swung him into a shadowy corner.

"Hey!" he cried, manhood offended, but then a very familiar voice cut through the air, sneer very evident.

"Don't get any vain ideas, Mr. Malfoy. I just wanted your attention without arousing suspicion from other parties." A thin finger pointed out of the dark and lit upon a pair of first-years babbling about Quidditch.

"Professor Snape?" Draco spluttered.

"Astounding deduction."

Still trying to calm his heart, Draco looked at the vague shadow of his Head angrily. "You didn't have to do it so dramatically. A well-placed detention works wonders."

"Don't anger me, boy," growled Snape, "or you will indeed find yourself in one of my detentions."

Draco sighed, resigned. "What do you want?"

"That's better. I want you to stop Mouse from leaving Hogwarts. At any cost. Stun her if you have to, but _do not let her leave_. Then, take her out of the common room to the entrance of the Slytherin domain. Professor Lupin will retrieve her. Everything understood? If not, I can find another cat's paw less mundane than yourself." Snape leaned against the wall casually.

"I hate being in someone's debt," Draco muttered mutinously.

"You are free to hate or love, as long as you pay that debt."

"Fine," Draco snarled, "but I'm tired of you using me to get to her. I'm suspicious of your motives, especially after all the things you had me try and the ways to obtain them."

Snape's eyebrow rose in mild surprise.

"If you think for one moment that I am entertaining a single romantic thought for that pathetic excuse for a Slytherin, you are much mistaken. I am merely intently curious, though you have no right to question those motives I have. And for your information, _Mister_ Malfoy, this new plan is for her own good."

Draco perked up at that. "A new plan?"

The Potions Master did not respond, but Draco understood the implications. He asked resignedly, "How should I stop her?"

"Your way."

~888~

Corielle folded tunic after tunic from the chest at the foot of her bed into her trunk. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she hated herself for them. Crying had never been the catharsis for her it usually was with others. It only succeeded in making her feel weak, drained, useless, and self-pitying. And her tears had only inspired more sharp taunts from her uncle and disapproving stares from her grandmother.

_"A lady doesn't cry, Corielle_,_"_ Corielle thought bitterly.

"Going somewhere?"

Corielle whipped around. Draco was standing at the doorway of the dormitory, looking as sly and as honey-sweetened deceptive as a cat ready to pounce. Corielle fisted her eyes.

"What do you want?" she said more unkindly than she would have in other circumstances.

"Are you used to running from your problems?" the silver-haired boy asked.

"You don't know anything about it!" she screamed, smiling evilly in her mind when Draco winced.

But then, much in the manner of his other failed attempts to unveil her, he adopted a rather seductive attitude that made Corielle halt in her tracks.

"Why don't you tell me?" he whispered. "I'll listen."

_Corielle was only half asleep when light from the hall outside her bedroom door made a thin golden line down her face. She held Raggedy Ann tighter to her as someone sat on the bed. A large hand ran down her side and began touching her newer developments._

_She began whimpering._

_At the noise, the man threw his arms around the ten-year-old girl and pressed a wand to her throat._

_And the voice of Uncle Willem, her beloved Uncle Willem, hissed in her ear, "You scream, or ever say anything to anyone, and I'll curse you so fast and so much you won't know where your tips are pointing."_

_And then he began._

"You wouldn't understand!" she screamed again.

"Calm down, Mouse," purred Draco, "I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to help."

Corielle began running, but Draco shouted from behind her, "_Petrificus Totalus_!" and she fell in a heap at his feet.

"Painfully easy," Draco muttered under his breath as he Levitated her to the entrance of the Slytherin common room.

~888~

Lupin moaned when he saw her, stiff as a board on Draco's knees.

"Really, Draco, was that necessary?"

Draco shrugged indifferently. "It worked, didn't it? And I've had too much experience with her to not suppress her all the way."

Lupin sighed, thinking something along the lines of _I thought Slytherins were supposed to be subtle,_ and took Corielle into his arms.

"What do you want with her?" Draco inquired, suddenly curious himself.

"I need to teach her something," Lupin said. "And that's all I need to say on the subject."

He swiftly carried her out of Draco's sight and up two flights of stairs. He refrained from looking at the poor, abused girl in his arms because he knew he would see angry accusations in her still mobile eyes.

Finally, he reached an empty Charms classroom. He set her down and performed the countercurse, which would return her power of movement only to find himself being clawed, kicked, and punched by Corielle Griffin, who had found enough of her wits to realize that Lupin was behind part of this kidnapping, and obviously didn't appreciate the fact very much.

Aghast and slightly abashed, he grabbed her arms and, against his better judgment, pressed her against the wall with his whole body. Being a werewolf allowed him certain strengths, and Corielle could not move at all, though not for lack of trying; she did everything but spit. Tears were streaming down her face in frustration, and Lupin knew it was because of the memories of similar positions with a less desirable man.

"I brought you here," Lupin said, louder than normal to be heard over her shrieks, "to teach you how to fence."

The proclamation was so unexpected that Corielle stopped in mid-screech, and Lupin was able to step back slightly so he would not be completely touching her.

"I know- it seems a strange request that I want you to learn, but I think it would do you good."

Corielle just stared at him, but she had calmed down considerably, and Lupin could quietly admire her determination not to be taken advantage of againregardless of what she had to do to ensure her safety. He let her go and moved away.

"You know," Corielle said slowly, "don't you?"

Lupin nodded, not elaborating.

Corielle collapsed to the floor and burst into the tears she had held back since Draco had Petrified her. Lupin knelt down before her, took her in his arms, and let her cry. She buried her head into his shoulder.

They sat on the dusty floor in that position for minutes.

Corielle lifted her head and laughed mercilessly. "He was a werewolf."

"I know."

"He was my uncle."

"I know."

"He's free."

Lupin lowered his head. "I know."

Her teeth clenched. "I want to rip him limb from limb, for what he denied me. I couldn't do any magic, and he made me think I never would, and he had that wand with him all the time and _I couldn't do one bloody thing!_"

"I know."

"Professor Snape says I'm not a good Slytherin."

"You are a Slytherin nonetheless. How can you not be a good one?"

She snorted. "I cannot even stand up to _him_. I can't stand anyone being close to me, I'm afraid of my own shadow..."

Lupin interrupted, "...all very normal reactions to your unusual predicament. But I want to help you."

"That's what Draco said," Corielle whispered cautiously.

Lupin smiled at the memory of a younger Draco's angelic face confessing to crimes and said, "He may be more on your side than you know. He has a... different method than most."

"What? Seduction?"

"Well, yes," Lupin said, chuckling, "in a way. It's his most effective way of manipulating, and it's the only one he knows. Of course, it doesn't help that he's had women kiss his feet before."

Corielle nodded. "He is rather attractive, isn't he?"

"Is he?" Lupin asked slyly.

Corielle's eyes narrowed in mock savageness. "Watch yourself, Professor, or I'll give you another scratch to match that one by your eye, though it might be a little closer to the target."

Lupin winced. "Spoken like a true Slytherin."

"Really," Corielle said, her eyes lighting up.

Lupin looked at her sideways. "I don't know whether to encourage this or not, but let's get started."

With a simple Summoning spell, two foils flew into his hands. He threw one at Corielle, who caught it easily.

"Now, first I'll tell you some history like a good teacher, then, I'll teach you a few basic moves..."

~888888~

All in all a sentimental chapter, but one that needs to be, I think. As far as what Corielle went through, while I use the situation of incestual rape, I do not treat it lightly. It is not cheerful. That is why this story is rated R. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_Having a good sleep, Corielle, darling?_

_I _was_. When did you come in? My daisy hills are fine without you._

_Ah, the timid girl is getting feisty, hmmm? Well, I'm invading your 'daisy hills.' Never liked flowers, made me sneeze. I only liked using them in Potions class where they could burn._

_Go away._

_No._

_Who are you?_

_Oh, yes, we're back on that note. I like having you ask, brightens my night. Not that I'll tell you, oh, no. By the way, darling, you've been doing well in Defense Against the Dark Arts. I never knew you had it in you to perform those curses without flaws. Usually a witch takes years of training to cast the curses halfway. I am the exception, of course._

_Io, you're conceited._

_It's one of my few pleasures, darling. When one is the most powerful of all, one naturally must have something that amuses. Back to ways, you're fencing isn't bad either. The werewolf is better than I imagined he'd be, but there's my comeuppance for assumptions._

_Professor Lupin is a great wizard._

The tone of the reply was definately sarcastic.

_Well, so was Dumbledore, and he's diminishing, isn't he? Great wizards... most great wizards don't last forever. The wizarding world will realize that when Dumbledore is dead. It's coming soon, I feel it._

Corielle was furious with this dismissal of her Headmaster ­ furious. She pushed the voice away from her. The voice, when it found a foundation, was slightly breathless, and ever so cold.

_I've let you free too long, haven't I, Corielle? Maybe another reminder..._

Bursts of white-hot pain shot like lightning through Corielle's head, making her scream... only letting her think only of the pain. Finally, the pain was taken away, and Corielle panted helplessly.

_That's better._ _Sorry, my dear, but you brought it on yourself. Take your new headache out on Draco; a Malfoy is always handy for that kind of abuse, and the person that boy has become will doubtlessly allow you to abuse him. He likes you. He finds you attractive. Even though he can't really see you._

There was a pause, and then the voice continued, mockingly.

_But _I_ can see you. I can see all of you when I look through your memory._

Corielle emitted a shriek of rage.

_It's enjoyable to toy with you. I don't even tell you the truth half the time. You have to decided what is true and what is fabricated. Like this: I've noticed you've become particularly fond of the newest werewolf in your life. And did you know he smells Griffin on you? He gets excited, protective, sexually aroused..._

This time, Corielle's shrieks were filled with emotional pain.

_You're too easy. And Severus... Did I mention Severus, darling?_

_Why can't you leave me alone?..._

~888~

Flashes of silver. Sharp clangs.

Suddenly, Corielle fell to the floor, Lupin's foil pressed against her stomach.

He withdrew from her quickly, permitting her to stand and brush off the dust.

"What's wrong, Mouse?" asked Lupin, taking Corielle's foil from her hand and putting his and hers back in their cases. "Your heart didn't seem to be into it today."

Corielle shrugged. She did not feel like speaking.

Lupin surveyed her from the corner of his eye, then said, "Severus tells me you're doing admirably in his advanced classes."

"If you don't mind, Professor," Corielle articulated carefully, "I would rather not talk about _him_."

Lupin sighed and turned to face Corielle squarely. "Mouse, you can't avoid him forever. He's sorry. Sort of."

"No, he isn't. Don't try and convince me otherwise. He's nothing but an abusive, conniving, manipulative, typical man, and I want nothing to do with him outside of the tutorials and classes out of which I cannot escape." Corielle felt particular satisfaction at stating the facts.

"If you made up your mind to enjoy them, and him, you'd have a better time at Hogwarts, Corielle." The use of her real name made Corielle look up. "You don't have the time here that other students have. Only two years. Make the most out of them, Mouse."

Corielle examined her feet. She had memorized every single stitch on every pair of slippers she had by now and was slightly embarrassed at the fact. Sheepishly, she muttered, "I'm sorry, Professor, but I don't really remember the last time I had a wonderful year. I'm afraid I'd be out of practice. And I'm going to be late for Transfiguration. Good day."

Lupin set a hand on the top of Corielle's scarf affectionately. "Likewise, Corielle. And I sincerely hope you have a good day."

Corielle's dream surfaced on the edge of her mind. _"he smells Griffin on you. He gets excited, protective, _sexually aroused_..."_ She shivered and ducked away.

"I apologize, Professor. I really need to go."

"Okay, Mouse, go on." Lupin was confused at her aversion. She usually did not mind his fatherly gestures.

Mouse told him a week ago she had been having bad dreams. Not really terrible enough to be coined nightmares, but they were bothering her more than she admitted. He worried about her reaction to them. She was not exactly a social butterfly, but this new melancholia closed her from almost everybody. Lupin did not believe such behavior was healthy.

Picking up his quill, he wrote on a spare piece of parchment: _Dear Catharine and Nathaneal Griffin, I am writing about your daughter. I am afraid that she is very ill in her mind as you know and..._

~888~

Hallowe'en was always the most festive time of the whole school year, save the awarding of the House Cup, and all the students participated in the new uplifting spirit in the air. Marcie and Vic had a particularly severe case of cheer, and to celebrate, they let loose an entire case of Dungbombs and Stink Pellets in the Entrance Hall, then escaped immediately to the invisible chamber near the marble staircase to watch the reactions of their fellow students and Filch, then to engage in a little snog session before lunch.

The teachers all sighed with relief that Hallowe'en was on a Saturday this year. With the wall-to-wall energy of their students, none of them believed they could convince the unwilling brains to learn anything. Poor Lupin was nearing his werewolf phase, and he was a bit more under the weather than usual, so he enjoyed the freedom of observing the excitement instead of participating, as he was usually cajoled into doing.

Snape was looking murderous. He preferred the quiet of his chambers when the students were this rowdy, and he had no patience for festivities. Dumbledore's fanciful notions for the Hallowe'en banquet were dull and half-witted to his intellectual mind. However, his lips curled upward as he thought of one of the events of the evening.

It was time for the Mouse to show her mettle.

~888~

Snape would have been irritated to know that Corielle agreed with him on the subject of celebration. Crowds and noise were never exciting in Corielle's eyes, and the frequency of her new dreams haunted what little cheeriness Corielle had ever possessed. For the day, she wore all black, but that was all. Marcie and Vic were wearing black as well, but they had strewn about their persons orange crepe paper, and they tried to convince the rest of the table to join them. Some Slytherins, a little tipsy from too much butterbeer, succumbed to the Catastrophous Couple's goading, but Corielle felt like she would threaten to curse them if they asked her. Marcie and Vic, after observing Corielle's talent in curses, avoided her gaze. Surprisingly, they had a rare perceptiveness that allowed them to read Corielle enough to know when she was not in the mood.

At the end of the Hallowe'en feast, Dumbledore stood. He coughed slightly, but nothing like the convulsions he had at the beginning of the year.

"I hope you all have enjoyed the house-elves' generous contribution to the Hallowe'en holiday."

Immediately, the Hall burst into cheers and whistles of approval.

Dumbledore smiled and continued, "And as is customary for the feast, I have provided entertainment for you all."

More cheers.

"First, however, we must touch on a serious note. Not all of you will remember the Hogwarts tradition of the Hallowe'en Challenge. We have not had one for many years. But this year, we are returning the tradition, for reasons which will soon be clear to everyone. Severus, if you will..."

"With pleasure," Snape murmured.

No one, not even the Slytherin table, was very comfortable as Snape vacated his chair and swept into the Hallowe'en throng. Disconcerting though his very presence among them was, it was the subtle, cruel smile touching his lips which really discomfited all the students. Anyone in his right mind would run from that look, but everyone was petrified in their seats. Even the Bloody Baron, who had stayed in the Great Hall for the feast, was watching the Slytherin Head warily.

Unlike most of the students present in the Great Hall, Corielle did not even know that Snape had moved from his seat at the High Table until a black leather glove was thrown on her empty plate and a sword tip was pressing against the skin of her cheek.

"Challenge," Snape announced. "Bring honor to your teacher, Mouse."

Corielle turned slowly.

"What... are... you... doing?" she asked slowly, and Snape was delighted to see a spark of fury edging her gray eyes.

"_I _asked Lupin to teach you. Now show me what you have learned." His dangerous smile grew wider.

The Bloody Baron rose from his place at the head of the Slytherin table and set an icy cold hand on Corielle's shoulder. "What do you hope to accomplish from this, Snape?" the Baron inquired under his breath so only Snape and Corielle could hear.

"Mouse and I will have our chance to vent our enmity, and we'll each give the other what they deserve. Does that satisfy your scruples, Baron?" Snape asked sarcastically. Why a Slytherin ghost with such a horrific past as the Baron would defend a mouse like Corielle was a source of amazement to Snape, and the Potions Master took a moment to reflect on the absurdity as he looked down at Corielle. He had more than once caught them sitting in silence at two-o'-clock in the morning when Corielle could not sleep, and it was frustrating to his analytical mind that he failed to understand how there could be any connection between two people of such different temperaments.

The Baron shook his head. "Why?"

But it seemed that Corielle herself held no qualms about accepting a challenge from her Head of House. The fury Snape had seen in her eyes moments before was now banked, but her gaze glittered dangerously at him, and she nodded slowly.

Abrubtly, Corielle stood and shouted, "_Accio_ sword!" She pointed her wand in the general direction of the trophy room where Lupin and she conducted their lessons. The said sword _whoosh_ed through the air and straight into Corielle's hand.

"If that's what you want, Professor," Corielle stated clearly, moving away from the table, "I accept your challenge." She set her sword against his and waited.

Snape found himself in a strange position. He had not expected Corielle to assent so quickly. He had counted on humiliating her, goading her, before the actual duel. He stole a glance at Lupin, who was smiling behind a hand. His message was clear: _You underestimated her, Severus._ Well, so what? He was better than she; he would win. Nonetheless, Snape did not like to be caught off-guard.

He swallowed slightly, collecting himself, then said, "Begin."

Corielle had obviously learned more in the course of two weeks than he had originally divined. From her proper positions and technique to her desire to succeed, Snape realized that she had attacked the task of fencing like she attacked the rest of her classes: with an inexplicable talent that very rarely ever appeared in a broken child like Corielle.

Snape was good- he knew that, had known it for years. Beating most of the other wizards he fenced with on a regular basis had proven the fact to him time and time again. However, as their blades struck, parried, whirred faster and faster, he understood that Corielle was better, if only because she desperately wanted to get her own back at her baleful Potions Master more than he wanted to vent his frustration with her.

It took fifteen minutes before the distinction between the two's abilities began to surface, but when the facts exhibited themselves, Snape was almost frightened. Corielle kept coming at him, and once, with a well-placed thrust, she made his shoulder bleed while she herself had not one hair out of place. She smiled at the glint of desperation in his black eyes. It pleased her to see his fear of her abilities when he had inspired fear in her heart for so long.

In response to the well-placed wound, Snape whipped around and maneuvered his sword underneath the edge of Corielle's black head scarf, then swiftly levered the sword up, tearing the scarf in half. The sword had also caught onto the comb that was holding her hair in place that day. The comb flew in an arch into a bowl of candy corn at the Ravenclaw table and Corielle's dark red hair fell out of its place, a few pins clattering to the floor. Corielle, Snape, and the entire Hall froze.

Few Hogwarts students had failed to notice Corielle's head scarf, so out of place among the peaked witchs' hats or plaited hair, and many of them desired as much as Snape to see what we under the scarf. However, Corielle had always protected her scarf almost religiously, and when Snape revealed Corielle's hair, most of the students and all of the teachers peered at her with Pandora's curiosity.

For a moment, Corielle and Snape stared at each other. The first thought that ran through Corielle's mind went something like this:

_It's going to start all over again (and Severus, did I mention Severus?), I tried so hard, couldn't he have stayed away?, what was so difficult about respecting my wishes?_

Snape's thoughts startled even himself:

_It's so beautiful_.

Under her scarf, Corielle's face had looked unnaturally pale and shadowed and severe. With her unusually wine-colored hair framing her angelface, she looked every bit of her sixteen years, young, fresh, and free. Her slightly slanted gray eyes seemed larger, her lips seemed fuller, and there was a sense of greater softness about her. The effect was one of startling beauty; not anything as gaudy as 'gorgeous,' but almost like Beauty in the tale of her love for a beast.

The second thought that crossed Snape's mind was:

_No wonder Griffin wanted her._

Almost as if she sensed his thoughts, Corielle choked out a ragged cry, tossed her hair behind her shoulders, and plunged her sword into his other shoulder, balancing her previous blow. The pain yanked Snape back into reality, and he crossed swords with her again. They dueled with renewed fervor.

After thirty minutes of fencing, both began to tire. Snape had never dueled with an opponent for so long; usually, his enemy had been flat on the floor within sixteen minutes and forty-three seconds, and that had been when he had fought against Lupin, who was actually rather good himself. Corielle's anger was finally playing itself out, even the fury from the newest violation. One of them would have to defeat the other and soon.

At thirty-eight minutes and six seconds, Corielle feinted to the left, then adroitly flipped her blade to disarm Snape. His sword clattered to the floor, and Corielle quickly stepped forward to block it. With a grin on her face, she pinned Snape against the wall with the tip of her sword against his neck, standing far enough away that Snape could not lash out at her in a final defense.

His Adam's apple bobbed up and down and his face dripped with sweat. Corielle revelled in victory, and what made the win even more delicious was that she finally defeated someone that she _wanted_ to hurt. She had not been given such a luxury with her previous advesary, and this new freedom was sweet.

Snape was shocked. She had beaten him. And with her hair draping over her shoulders down to her knees, and with the face-transforming smile of victory gracing her face, Corielle looked like an enchantress to him. From his previous experiences with enchantresses in his past, the connotations of such a congruency were mostly negative.

Then, he observed a change in her countenance as horror at the deed dawned on her.

Though Snape did not know it, Corielle had just seen the potential within herself to be something which disgusted her - to be Willem.She saw herself in the position of her uncle, wallowing in power and lording it over someone who could not resist. The new power was now vile to her, and she loathed herself for becoming what she hated most, even to such a horrible person as Professor Snape.

She quickly pulled away and hastened to her seat, her cheeks flushed a brilliant red. Her torn head scarf lay forgotten on the floor, and she had to deal with her ridiculously long, odd-colored hair before sitting down. She wanted to leave, but she felt like her knees were shaking too much from embarrassment. But her embarrassment was nothing like Severus Snape's.

At Corielle's victory, the entire Hall burst into raucous cheers. Like seeing Draco knocked unconscious, seeing their Potions Master, the same Potions Master who tormented and taunted them, pinned against the wall, helpless, gave Hogwarts a nasty satisfaction. Corielle's embarrassment was only to herself. Snape's humiliation was open for the whole school to see.

_He's Slytherin through-and-through, and none of us like to be embarrassed._

After Corielle withdrew her blade, Snape fell to the ground in weariness, but when he heard the cheers, he stood, and without a word, left the Great Hall.

Stalking through the corridors and down several flights of stairs, Snape managed to maintain his wavering self-control, teeth clenched and jaw tensed against the flood of defeat. He could still hear the cheers and laughter of the students in the Great Hall; long after the Hall was out of hearing range, the sounds of celebrating students and gloating professors rang in his ears, eerily magnified by humiliation.

Reaching the privacy of his own room, he slammed his fist against the wall, unable to hold back any longer. Though his wounds ached, and he knew he should visit Madam Pomfrey, or at least retrieve some healing salves from his private cupboard.

But he could not.

Once the dam of his control had broken, Snape could not resurrect it, and so he fell to his knees, slamming his fist into the wall of his chamber, the stones ripping his hands, cursing Corielle and Lupin and Dumbledore and every teacher and student at Hogwarts and himself and his own stupid lack of control and weak fascination.

So intent was he on cursing and demolishing his room, Severus Snape failed to notice the stream of tears - tears of frustration, anger, humiliation, and self-disgust - which coursed down his cheeks, mixing with the rivulets of blood which flowed from his arms, and pooled in his feet by the floor.

~888888~

This is not a sentimental weeping. I'm not showing my readers a vulnerability because Snape, I believe, does not have any. This is a cry of humiliation and hatred and is not to be confused with sentiment.

In regards to Corielle's beauty, I'm not a fan of making my characters breath-taking, but Corielle just _is_. There's nothing else to say about it. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Corielle watched Snape exit the Hall and was assaulted by a whole new bout of guilt. On top of everything else, almost all the people in the Hall, even Slytherins that respected, if not actually liked Snape, were slapping her on the back, shaking her hand, or kissing her cheeks (which applied to a rather exuberant Hufflepuff who had been endlessly terrorized by the antagonistic Potions Master).

The Hall was bedlam, but Professor Dumbledore stood up, and with the voice of his old energy, he shouted, "Silence!"

Immediately, the Hall was silent as a tomb.

"As entertaining as that was, I'm sure Miss Griffin would like to breathe with her fencing master. Professor Lupin, retrieve your pupil."

"Yes, Headmaster."

Lupin's wasted face sported the brightest smile anyone had seen on him for many years. He crossed the High Table and took Corielle's arm with pleasure. The crowd was reluctant to let her go, but Lupin pushed his way through them and into the Entrance Hall.

Shutting the great wooden doors, Lupin smiled and said, "Well done, Mouse, well done. You did better than I thought..."

But then he stopped as he saw Corielle's stricken face and scarf-less head. Unlike the rest of the Hall, he had not noticed that Snape had stripped her of her scarf; he had been concentrating more on the tactics used rather than the appearances of the opponents. For a moment, he was struck dumb by the sight.

He recovered quickly, taking vague notice of the distress of his protege. "What's wrong? You did well-- more than well, you fenced masterfully. I've never seen you so passionate in your attacks."

The word 'passionate' seemed to spark her shame, and Corielle was gasping for air as she attempted to suppress the lump growing in her throat. "I was _him_, Professor. I was my uncle. I took advantage of Professor Snape just as Uncle Willem took advantage of me."

"Oh, is that what's wrong?" Professor Lupin mused. He thought for a moment, staring at Corielle's hair as a focus point. Then he grabbed Corielle's shoulders and bent down until he could look her straight in the eye.

"Corielle, Seve-- Professor Snape entered that competition knowing full well that he would either win or lose. He was the one who suggested that I teach you to fence in the first place. He was overconfident, and he lost. He underestimated you, and he was defeated. It is his fault entirely. Your situation with your uncle, on the other hand, that was not your choice. You did not enter it willingly; your uncle coerced you with a power that gave him distinct advantage over you. Professor Snape's skills and your own power of fencing were evenly matched. The two wars are completely different.

"And besides," Lupin added, with a small grin, "Professor Snape needs to fail at something. He doesn't fail often enough. It's healthy for him to believe he is fallible."

Corielle gave a wavery smile, then embraced her teacher.

"Thank you," she whispered.

But, despite his obvious sincerity, she was not quite sure whether she believed him or not.

~888~

A week passed uneventfully. Corielle was actually in a fine mood; she had not had to go to tutorials with Professor Snape since the fencing match, and he had left her alone, ignoring her whenever she happened to pass him in the halls or corridors of the school or during class.

For his part, Snape was still attempting to recover from the sprain to his dignity and the change in Corielle. At first, he avoided her eyes, thinking they would be full of mirth or pity, both which he could not stand from a student he now considered his rival.

Nor was Corielle the only problem. Draco actually stopped by his office one day to apologize for the loss, and in the midst of the apology, he had burst into peals of laughter, leaving Snape in a very sour mood indeed. Draco had lost Slytherin House fifty points and was literally kicked out the door of the office. Snape did not know if he could bear the humiliation much longer without lashing out at Corielle again, though in rare moments of candor, he admitted to himself that it really was not justifiable to punish her at something in which she was obviously talented.

However, when he pondered the atrocious tortures he could administer to the famous Miss Griffin, his thoughts would then take an abrubt turn to her appearance.

He knew this probably was not the safest memory on which to focus, but he could not remove the sight of Corielle, upright, spirited, flushed red with satisfaction, face terrifyingly beautiful, that strange red hair draping her with its glory, holding the point of her sword against the tender flesh of his throat, fatalistically bewitching.

He would have to force his thoughts elsewhere.

Still, when he was sure she was not aware of his notice, he would watch her.

As he was watching her now.

She had stopped wearing the head scarves. He deduced that she considered them pointless after he had displayed what she had so long concealed. That hair. Now, it looked like crimson flame dripping with blood in the torch light, and he felt an inexplicable yet irrevocable desire to plunge his hands into her fiery hair, threading his hands through it, sweet and seductive like blood, twisting it, pulling her closer and closer and...

Snape swore under his breath and tore his gaze from her and put his hands to the side of his head. Now where did _that_ come from? She was a _student_, for Chrestomanci's sake.

~888~

Corielle swung a length of hair from her shoulders, so that the entire mass flowed down her back. The freer movement was more exhilarating than she would have thought it would be. For a moment, she considered paying her thanks to Professor Snape, but she squashed _that_ idea fairly quickly.

She was sitting down to a weekend lunch, talking with Marcie and Vic, laughing over a joke Vic had told them, enjoying herself as she had not for as long as she could remember, when they were distracted by the afternoon owl post. Owls of assorted shapes and shadows flew over each House table, dropping their letters, packages, and newspapers to all.

Corielle was not expecting any mail, though she always looked up to see whether her parents had heard of her Sorting. She hoped they had written and that they were not terribly disappointed at her placement in Slytherin.

So it was with pleased surprise that the Griffin family great horned owl swooped to Corielle's plate to deposit a small roll of parchment. Then the owl flew to Professor Lupin, and a letter landed on his plate.

Lupin opened his letter first, expecting it after his inquiry to the Griffins. But when he unsealed it, he was faced with just one sentences screaming at him in human blood.

**MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS, WEREWOLF!**

Lupin gaped at the words, then stole a glance at Corielle as she opened her letter.

_Dear Corielle,_

_I am being carefully watched as I write this. They threaten me with death if I give away too much. Your father and I have been captured by the escaped Death Eaters. They all wear masks, so I cannot tell you any of their names. They have been careful with their words, so I cannot tell you where they hide. I can tell you only one thing._

_My brother is with them._

_He has been promoted. Tell Dumbledore that Lord Voldemort is back. I don't know how, but the Death Eaters informed me that they were called. I just wanted to say your father and I love you very much, and we're sorry we did not see your plight when It happened six years ago._

_We will be killed, Corielle. You will inherit everything and we- _(this was blurred with tears)- _you to know that we are extremely proud of your magical abilities of which Remus Lupin informed us. But one thing I wanted to say before, but thought I would have plenty of time to say it:_

_We would have loved you still if you had not had magic. You are precious to us._

_They tell me to stop._

_I love you a million times._

_We will die fighting._

_Love,_

_Your mother and father_

Trying to take in the horror of what she had just received, Corielle let her mother's letter fall from her grasp. Two smaller pieces of paper fell out from the folds of the envelope. With a rising sense of dread, she picked them up and read. The first was short and to the point, signed with the Dark Mark.

**We know who you are; we know where you live; you cannot escape us. Come to us, Corielle.**

The second note sent chills through her.

_I love you, my dear Elle. I want you in my arms again. I want to be in you again. And can you deny that you want me, too, deep within your spoiled, beautiful body?_

_Love always,_

_Willem_

Corielle's hands shook so violently that the parchment was rattling. She took deep gasping breaths, but no air seemed to enter her lungs. Red spots blurred her vision, and she staggered slightly.

The letters, those letters that lay bare the long road before her, fluttered to the ground.

"Professor Lupin--" Corielle began to say, but only a choked sob escaped her throat.

Lupin ran down to Corielle. He began to say something, anything, but he immediately realized her state of mind was far more unsettled than his.

"Severus! Albus!" he yelled at the High Table as he read the last words of her second note that was written in the same hand as his own.

Snape and Dumbledore rushed to the call and Corielle stood, looking stunned. Her face was drawn and white; she seemed half-dead.

For the first time in a week, Snape looked her straight in the eye. She did not so much as flinch, but Snape doubted that she even noticed he was there.

And he wondered with dread what sort of news could elicit such a response from the fiery enchantress he had seen before, even if only for a moment.

He and Dumbledore perused the letter with a growing sense of terror.

"This explains the quick restoration of my health," Dumbledore muttered to Snape and Lupin. "My charm to stay alive as long as Voldemort lived is still in play. But how could he possibly... Voldemort was most certainly dead when I checked. You both saw him. It was his body; he had not disappeared like when Harry defeated him the first time. His body was cold. How can he still be alive?"

"Miss Griffin?" Snape murmured, noticing the increasing pallor of her face. "Miss Griffin, you must come back. Lupin, shake her out of that trance."

Lupin grabbed her shoulder and shook her hard. Corielle's eyes rolled up into the back of her head.

"No!" Lupin cried, shaking her harder. "Don't faint! That would be worse than death for you! Come back to us, Corielle! Come back!"

A humming sound came through her lips, and her eyes closed. Yet she still stood straight. Both Snape and Dumbledore abandoned the letter in favor of watching the girl before them. She continued humming eerily, rocking back and forth on her heels.

"She won't respond, Headmaster. What is she doing?" Lupin asked, utterly baffled with this turn of events.

Albus Dumbledore glanced around him and saw that the entire Hall was waiting with bated breath.

"Not here," he whispered. "Remus, lead her to my office. We can discuss this there."

Lupin took her shoulder and tried steering her to the Hall doors, but she would not budge. He looked at Dumbledore and Snape blankly.

"How do I move her?" he asked.

Dumbledore looked at the two teachers urgently. "We'll have to carry her."

Lupin just stood there, his hands in front of him like he did not know where to put them. He looked at Snape helplessly.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Oh, for Chrestomanci's sake." He slipped his left arm under her knees and wrapped his free arm around her shoulder, cradling her gently. Her head lolled until it rested against his chest. She was still humming, and the sound vibrated strangely through his body like a gentle tremor in the earth.

The three teachers quickly headed out of the Hall filled with curious eyes and to Dumbledore's office.

"Jelly Slugs," Dumbledore gasped breathlessly. The gargoyle that guarded the entrance leaped aside.

Lupin threw open the door to the office, and Snape rushed in, immediately depositing her into sitting position on a high-backed armchair in front of the hearth. Then he stood back and looked at her.

She continued to hum, her eyes now wide open, her body swaying like a cobra with the fire from the hearth flickering in her blank gray eyes, empty as dark tunnels. Picking him up from his customary perch, Dumbledore brought Fawkes to her, whispering unintelligible words in the magical bird's ear. The phoenix settled onto her shoulder, rubbing his head against her white cheek.

"It's meant to calm her," Dumbledore said quietly, not turning his gaze away from the girl in front of them. "Fawkes should bring her back so that she can talk to us." As they watched, Fawkes crooned to Corielle, continuing to caress her. Corielle rocked back and forth, her humming not ceasing at all.

And Snape, Lupin, and Dumbledore waited.

Suddenly, the ground began to quake and wind began to swirl about the three in torrential gusts. Lupin grasped Dumbledore's shoulders to keep the old man from falling, and Snape braced himself. Then, lights began to flash around them and the office began to fade. Snape had only a brief glance of the fireplace, and a slight fear gripped his heart.

The fire was flickering as cheerfully as any fire. The smoke was curling vertically upward. It showed no sign of wind.

He cried out as something grabbed him and pulled him forward, lights flashed and lengthening as he was pulled faster and faster and faster...

And then, it stopped.

Snape steadied himself and looked around. He was no longer in the Headmaster's office, but in a little girl's room. Frilly pink curtains fluttered in a warm summer breeze and stuffed animals littered the floor. On a white bookshelf stenciled with ballet slippers, china dolls were displayed in their Victorian dresses and parasols. In a four poster bed surrounded by translucent white lace, a young girl slept.

A young girl with startlingly dark red hair.

A strip of light lit on the sweet face that Snape recognized as Corielle's, and Snape gaped.

"Where are we?" asked Dumbledore in a raspy voice behind him.

A bright flash, and Corielle stood across from the bed, looking down at her young self with Fawkes perched on her shoulder, his head cocked to the side in a gesture of confusion.

Snape turned and beckoned to Dumbledore and Lupin. He pointed to the little girl in the bed and Corielle standing before it. Their eyes widened as they, too, noticed the resemblance between the two.

A floorboard creaking from outside the bedroom immediately put the professors on their guard. Snape's head whipped to the door, where the strip of light had been obstructed by a shadow. The door creaked as a figure entered the room and shut the door. In the moonlight, the man's face was slightly hidden by shadow, but Lupin hissed in a sudden intake of breath.

"That's Willem Griffin."

Snape stared at the young man who had entered the room. He'd never met Griffin ­ never even really heard of him until the Daily Prophet had revealed his role in Corielle's life. But now he felt a burning interest in the man who had caused his student-- his Mouse-- so much pain. And an even greater, shameful curiosity to learn exactly what this man had done to her to shake her so.

Griffin approached to the girl's bed with silent steps and drew back the curtains. He pulled back the light blanket that covered the girl and slipped his hand up her nightdress. Little Corielle's eyes flew open and she started to scream, but Griffin covered her mouth, muttering a threat as he began to take off her clothes. Lupin and Dumbledore turned away in shock, but Snape just stared, enthralled. It was not anything he had not seen before as a Death Eater, but somehow seeing it done to his own student, someone he knew, made it much more shameful. Little Corielle groaned in pain, and something wispy issued from her mouth. It flew away from the bed, fluttering, a small, green bird.

Snape shared a glance with Lupin, who had uncovered his eyes in time to see the bird. Lupin shrugged, as in the dark as Snape. A noise issued from the real Corielle, and Snape turned to see a distinctive sneer of bitterness distorting her face.

The tornado encircled them again and Little Corielle's room faded away. There was a flash of light, and Lupin, Snape, and Dumbledore were in an expansive bathroom. A slightly older Corielle was taking a shower behind misted glass. The door behind them opened and in stepped Griffin. He did not even bother taking off his own clothes, but stepped into the shower and grabbed Corielle round the waist, his head dropping to her neck. The present Corielle let out a stifled moan, then turned away.

"This is obscene," Lupin whispered.

"These are her memories," Snape said flatly. "This is what she wants us to see."

Lupin began trembling as the tornado came back. "Albus, get us out of here. I can't... it's not for us to see."

Dumbledore, too, was shaking, but not from the memories. "I'm trying as hard as I can," he grunted.

The memories came faster now, sometimes shifting into dreams with expressionist houses and featureless faces, all of her uncle's sins against her, and Snape eventually realized that the green bird was the embodiment of her magic that would eventually return after Griffin had been imprisoned in Azkaban.

As the memories-- and the images-- flowed before them, Dumbledore, Lupin and Snape watched with horror. Both Dumbledore and Lupin turned away often, unable to see what was happening before them, shown by Corielle's memory. But Snape could not look away. Whether because he needed to see the truth, or because he needed to feel as she had felt, or because of some other reason he could not, did not want to understand, he couldn't look away. He had seen similar situations in his days as a Death Eater, but never had they been as poignant as they were now.

One memory in particular stood out in Snape's mind, and not just because it was the last one they saw:

Corielle was fifteen now, and she wore her headscarf like a religious object as Griffin entered her room, now drastically changed from frilly bows and lace to bare walls and neatness; school books littered the floor in place of stuffed animals, and the sheets on her bed were turned down. Corielle, however, stood beside it, illumined by the full moon. She wore only a long translucent robe that hid very little, though it reached the floor. Griffin was absolutely naked.

"Turn around," Griffin ordered, dark eyes sparkling lecherously.

The girl in the robe obeyed with eyes clenched shut, and when she had completed her obligatory circle, she said softly, "You chose it, Uncle."

"We have the house to ourselves tonight, Elle," he whispered, sliding his hands around her waist and pulling her against him. She flinched at the touch.

"It's full moon tonight, Uncle Willem. I don't know why you came."

He licked her ear with a lengthening tongue. "I thought it might be interesting to see how your body would take a werewolf. But don't worry-- I took the Wolfsbane Potion. No need to spoil your body anymore than it already is. Besides, I like you now, perfect. All mine," he purred in her ear. He laughed, and as the full moon illuminated him fully, the laugh transfigured into vicious, dominating snarls.

"Oh, gods," Corielle gasped as he tore off her robe and headscarf with hands that had turned to claws. He was a different kind of werewolf than Lupin, more man than wolf, but Lupin still gulped as the claws ripped at the skin and the wolf forced Corielle's legs wide open. Most of the sight was obscured by Griffin's immense body, but Snape could hear her screams of pain, and shame.

And Snape finally averted his eyes.

As Dumbledore's office came back into existence, Lupin fell to his knees and covered his face with his hands. Dumbledore collapsed into a chair, from exhaustion as much as horror. Snape leaned against the wall and shut his eyes. He had known Willem Griffin was a Black Dog, but he had had no idea of the atrocities Griffin had committed, worse than most Death Eaters. He wondered why Lord Voldemort had not promoted Griffin earlier.

For the first time, he completely understood what was behind Corielle's beautiful, frightened exterior, and he pitied her, one of three people in his entire life that he ever pitied.

He heard sobbing, and opened his eyes to see Corielle prostrate on the ground, crying as if her heart, mind, and soul would split. Her wails were like arrows straight into his black heart. He had never met anyone so free with emotion about what she had faced. Not even victims of the Cruciatus screamed with such passion because hers was a deep wound, acquired through years of scarring, physical, mental, and spiritual.

He admired her for what she had done to survive and the fact that she still lived. He admired her, he realized in surprise.

But then she stood and rammed her wrists against the edge of the hearth, causing the skin to rip and the blood to flow freely.

"Stupid girl," he shouted in surprise. He tore the bottom of his robes and wrapped her wrists tightly. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I want to die!" she cried hysterically. "He'll come back for me, I know he will, and he'll come to my bed and take me again and again and again..." She began to laugh wildly through the tears and the blood.

Snape knew the truth behind her words, and he knew that she would be powerless to stop him, though she had magic now. Her profound fear of Willem had obviously increased into a complex that left her helpless in her uncle's wake. But Snape was helpless, too, against Willem, and where Snape was fallible, he was angry. Now, that anger swelled into a more practical approach as he became more frustrated with Corielle's laughing. This was a problem he could solve.

Snape slapped her smartly across the face.

She froze, then whispered, "I need to go."

She rushed out.

"Stop her," Snape hissed. But after one glance he saw that neither Dumbledore nor Lupin was in any condition to get up, let alone run after a much younger witch.

Taking a deep sigh, he ran after her.

~888888~

I absolutely hated writing this chapter. I felt sick afterward, and I can't believe Willem took it this far. I'm sorry for people who read this. I wish her predicament had never occured to me because it's gone out of control. Have any of you ever lost control for the worse of your characters? But don't worry, things will brighten considerably. I think. This is as far as I'm going to delve into the past of Corielle Griffin. Or at least that I'm aware of. 


	10. Chapter 10

_What, after all, is a halo?_

_It's only one more thing to keep clean._

-Christopher Fry

**Chapter 10**

Hiding in a corner. Shuddering next to a suit of armor that turned down its helmet to look at her. She hit it on the leg, and with a rasp of metal on metal, the helmet creaked back to its original position.

Blood began trickling down her arms from beneath the makeshift bandages. From whom? What? She didn't know or care. Memories drifted through her mind like scarves in the wind, but now she just wanted to forget. Not exist. Nix. Nada. X.

She stared blankly at a patch of stones in the wall adjacent to her hiding place. There was a crack in the lower right corner, and a spider was navigating it, spinning a fine, thin, iridescent strand of web to the floor.

Sharp, sure footsteps echoed in the corridor, and she tilted her head. Black boots, slightly scuffed at the toes. Rich black material of robes billowing, baleful thunderclouds, marred only by a rough tear at the hem. The feet halted in the middle of the hall. She slid her head back, and rested her chin against her arms. She had tried to become as small as she could, but she could only hope the person in the hall was extremely blind or occupied and would pass her over.

No such chance.

Snape silently looked down at the curled-up figure of his pupil. Corielle's eyes were wide, red, and empty, and her face was blank. No. A single tear slid down the channels made by previous tears. Crying females. He never knew quite what to do with crying females. Nor with crying males for that matter, but...

He shook his head. There was no time for wondering what to do to comfort her. He could only give her what she _needed_.

Carefully, as though approaching a violent wounded beast, Snape came closer, then knelt on the hard stone floor.

"I'm sorry," Corielle whispered.

Snape's face twisted in confusion. "Sorry for what? What hideous sin have you committed lately?"

"I'm sorry I made you see. You were better off hating me."

Snape gave a mirthless laugh.

"Oh, rest assured, Miss Griffin, I still hate you. You needn't fear for our non-existent relationship."

"Pity. You may still hate me, but you will also pity me. Professor Lupin, Professor Dumbledore, Professor Jenkins, they'll all pity me, and treat me like a fragile vase. Despite what you think, Professor, for I may have given you a different impression, I despise being pitied. Everything seems very unreal when people look at you with their foreheads turned down and when they talk in harsh whispers behind their hands. I've seen it."

"Pity," Snape spat. "What a loathsome word. Really, Miss Griffin, if you haven't already noticed, I am as unaccustomed to offering pity as receiving it. Believe me, I will not pity you. If anything, I'll work you harder than I ever have before. It's rather cathartic, work. Besides, I've noticed you warm to it. You've never shirked from the assignments I or any other teacher has given you."

Corielle shifted her head again, looking again at the spider. It had reached the floor and connected the other part of its web. It was now crawling diligently back up the stone to start the process again.

"You haven't called me by the nickname you gave me," she said quietly. "That means you think this occasion is serious enough to use my surname in a formal manner. And you aren't treating me quite as horrible as you usually do."

Snape snorted. "You sound as though you want to me to spit at you, chain you to the ceiling by your thumbs and leave you there for the vultures."

"It would be more in character," Corielle replied sourly, holding a hand to her head. She was getting dizzy.

Snape, ever observant, noticed the gesture and reached out for her. "You have to go to the hospital wing. You sliced your wrists too deep." His hand closed around the wound. Corielle winced at the sting, and swayed where she sat.

"Leave me alone."

"No." Snape grabbed her other wrist, sinking his fingers into the flesh, causing the wound to bleed more, dripping into a small puddle of blood on the floor. Corielle cried out.

"If you die, you lose. Griffin wins. Do you want that?" He shook her. "Do you?"

"N-no, gods, no, let me go!" She shrank away from him. He abruptly released her wrists and instead grasped her face, forcing her to look at him.

His sallow skin, apathetic countenance, and flashing, black eyes made her freeze, staring straight at him.

"You will listen to me now," he said deliberately.

Corielle nodded, utterly mesmerized, mouth trembling prettily. The sight made Snape hesitate, glancing at her full lips. A quiver of something about which he preferred not to think shot through his stomach. He licked his own lips absentmindedly. Then he realized what he was doing, and he tore his gaze from her mouth in favor of her gray, oddly-shaped eyes.

"The things I saw, they are no less than things I have seen. The things Griffin did to you, they are no less than the things I have done." As Corielle's eyes widened, Snape explained further, feeling an absurd whim to clarify the obscure statements. "I have never taken a girl against her will. It's messy, petty, and it holds no interest to me. Yes, I was a Death Eater." Still holding her face, he let his left sleeve slide back, showing white puckered scar tissue in the shape of a snake issuing from a skull's grinning mouth. Corielle recoiled from the mark.

"But you have nothing to fear from me. My allegiance is no longer with Lord Voldemort. Hogwarts is my home. I protect as my home. Furthermore, I am Head of Slytherin. The Head of House is often described as a parent, and I protect the members of my House as a parent does. You are a Slytherin, whether either of us like it or not, and I will protect you. I don't care if we have to recruit a team of a dozen house-elves to guard your bed, I will protect you."

"I don't want your protection," Corielle whispered fiercely, writhing underneath his touch furiously, attempting to escape from his hold. "I want my parents back. I want my uncle killed and his head hung on my bedpost. And I want Voldemort cut into small pieces and fed to the darkest, wildest creature in the Forbidden Forest."

Snape held her all the more tightly to keep her from fleeing. "Good. We may make a Slytherin of you yet." Corielle stopped, looking again into his eyes. "You are a young woman of great power, Corielle Griffin. Have you noticed that you can do some of the spells most wizards find the hardest to accomplish as easily as the wave of a wand? Do you realize your true skill with a cauldron, even under the eye of one of the most skilful Potions Masters on this planet? Have you noticed how effortlessly you can find information, almost as though you have your own sort of sight? Have you not noticed the gazes of envy from other students as you master any charm, as you tumble any obstacle, as you face every difficulty as casually as a stroll in a park? Who else could have prevented Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard living, from using his vast power to get Lupin and me out of your mind, you memories? You have more control than you think."

Snape paused and noticed Corielle's blank expression.

"From your look of confusion, I discern you have not noticed this. Notice it, Miss Griffin."

"You're crazy," Corielle said waveringly.

"No. You've just beguiled yourself into the folly that you are weak because that is the illusion that Griffin would like you to believe. With his selfishness, he deprived you of your magic.You've remained in a position of submission for the last... five years, is it?"

"Six," she replied.

Snape nodded. "Six then. I don't know whether your power comes from being repressed for so long. Maybe it will take you six years to become a normal witch with normal capabilities. The odds are great in that possibility, but I don't believe it. From what I have observed, it is not the effect of a chained nature, it's the innate talent that appears in the most rare of witches and wizards. Your magic was thrown aside, and it returns now with a vengeance. It has to happen to someone, who better than you?"

"I don't believe you." But her voice betrayed her, and her eyes were almost glinting with bemusement.

"Your parents were good people. I remember them from my years at Hogwarts. Even though they were Gryffindors, even some of the Slytherins could find little to hate in them. They were fairly normal by successful standards. But you, Miss Griffin, your situation is anything but normal. You've lived a life of extremes: black and white, dark and light, night and day, good and evil, permitted and illicit, weak and strong, powerful and impotent. So you have to choose which you prefer, and it will be difficult for you to reconcile between the two extremes. Grays will be obstacles for you, so you need to start with black and white. Which would you prefer Miss Griffin?"

You have talent, power, a drive, and you are not going to squander away all your gifts because of one self-indulgent Black Dog."

"Death Eater."

"What?"

"He's a Death Eater now. The letter said he was promoted."

"That's trivia. Whatever he is, you are not going to kill yourself for Willem Griffin. That is the weak path. And you are my Slytherin. You will not be weak."

Corielle's now dry eyes gazed up into Snape's cold black stare, as intense as a tornado's eye. She lifted her own hands, red with her blood, and gently pulled Snape's grip from her face, staining his pale skin a deep crimson. Her pupils were unfocused, but Snape was still pleased enough to release her. She did not let go of his hands.

"Your Slytherin," she repeated. "I will not be weak."

And she smiled.

~888~

_Gods, I need a drink , _thought Snape, rubbing his forehead. He stared at the fire of his quarters, eyes hooded and cavernous.

He had led Corielle to the hospital wing and left her in the capable hands of Madam Pomfrey. Poppy had shaken her head with horror at the damage Corielle had done to herself, but one glare from Snape was enough to keep the nurse's mouth closed. He could feel the heat of Corielle's eyes burning into his back as he left.

The Mouse had responded to his lecture better than he had anticipated. A spark of something very Slytherin was kindled in her spirit now, and she had not been ashamed to admit her House sorting. One small step in the right direction.

Then why was he so... unfulfilled? Why was he still unsatisfied? He continued massaging his temples until he felt a sticky liquid congeal underneath his fingers. Blood. Corielle's blood. He still had not washed it from his hands.

He had almost forgotten the taste of blood. It had been a long time since his service with Voldemort, and even then his assignments to murder had been few. Snape was better suited to research, experimentation-- dustier work. Besides, he had never approved of such goings-on, though he had killed some for sport on an occasional bad day, and Voldemort had never seen fit to stretch Snape to something he did not care to do.

Snape brought his hands to his mouth, let his tongue creep out from between his lips, and gently licked the congealed liquid. Yes, it had been a long time. The metallic taste of Corielle's blood mingled with the distinct taste of his own skin tingled his spine, and he licked harder. If he concentrated enough, he could taste Corielle's skin, the skin cells she had shed when she had touched him, removed his hands from her face, the skin he had shed himself from her. He shivered deliciously, then stood, decisively striding to his wardrobe and snatching his cloak from behind his numerous, almost identical robes.

Not just any cloak, but the cloak he had worn as a Death Eater. He took the material in his hands, rubbed it against his fingers, feeling the subtle texture of the cloth. It was heavy, draping all the way to the ground, meant to hide the Death Eaters' feet when they walked, a mimicry of Dementors. On the hood, there was a thin gauze, almost opaque from outside observation, to hide from prying eyes the face of the Death Eater so they could roam at will and never be seen. He would not wear the hood tonight. There was no need.

~888~

The night was a clear one; no clouds obstructed the view of the stars, and the streets of Hogsmeade were crowded with magical folk who wanted to cram in their Christmas shopping while the weather was still kind and cool, free of sleet or snow. Snape trod through the village practically unnoticed. His hood was draped over his face, the mask tucked against the back of his head. Anyone looking would have only seen an inexpressive mouth and a determined jaw, a startlingly formidable physiognomy; the upper part of his face submersed in shadow, his eyes glittering ever so slightly in the light of the lanterns flanking the streets.

It was good to be ignored, to not have to sneer at any Gryffindor crossing his path, to not have to skirt unwelcome glances or engage in forced cheerful conversation. Not that he ever sounded cheerful in any conversation except where Potter's detentions had been the subject...

On a whim, Snape slipped into the Three Broomsticks, wincing a little at the sudden acquaintance with light.

"Good evening," said Madam Rosmerta, approaching Snape while holding a tray of drinks. "What can I do for you, sweet'eart?"

He paused, wondering when the last time someone had called him 'sweetheart' was, then deciding it was too far back for him to remember, if it had ever happened at all.

"Excuse me, sweet'eart," said Rosmerta again, "I'll be right at your table, but the vampires over there are getting thirsty. Find a seat, and I'll Locate you when I'm finished. What's your name, sweet'eart?"

"Stefan," Snape replied smoothly. "Judas Stefan."

"Well, Judas, I'll be right with you." She walked away, hips swaying seductively. Oddly enough, Snape only eyed the curvy lady with detached curiosity, nothing more.

He really had never been too distracted by the ladies of the wizarding world. When he needed sexual satisfaction, he'd go to the whorehouses, but he never cared which girl he had. Except one, and that had been when he was very, very young; seventeen, just out of Hogwarts. A cocky young boy, a Master at Potions at such a young age, arrogant and swaggering, ready to conquer the world-- much like every other shallow youth out of school. Of course, he had already been a Death Eater at that stage, but ripe for the youthful obsession nonetheless.

The woman in question had been an enchantress, and, as far as Snape knew, ageless. At times she would look twelve, and at other times, a very smooth-skinned eighty. She was his first lover, and when she was through with him (and all enchantresses grow tired of the lovers they chose), she had thrown him from the company of her cave and beautiful golden skin into the wilderness, naked and possessionless.

He had stumbled upon a shack in the woods and had collected his bearings there until he was summoned again by Voldemort and was saved the trouble of gathering enough strength to Apparate on his own. He had been spat on and ridiculed by Voldemort's other Death Eaters and because Voldemort had been looking on with cruel amusement, Snape had had to suffer the humiliation without a sound, cry, or plea. The next day, he had privately renounced his loyalty to Voldemort, and joined Dumbledore, who would never let him be humiliated in such a way.

Well, not purposefully. He had been humiliated by Mouse, but that was different. That had been _his_ choice. Which made it worse. He had requested that Challenge, and Dumbledore had warned him he could lose in front of the whole school, but Snape had been arrogant again, and had lost. It never ceased to amaze him how much one man could hurt himself without others' help.

The sound of a woman's voice asking some kind of question brought Snape out of his reverie and back to the warm present of the Three Broomsticks.

"Well, sweet'eart, what will it be?" Madam Rosmerta repeated patiently, taking out a quill and bit of parchment.

"Anything strong."

Rosmerta looked at him from under her brows. "Are you sure, sweet'eart? We have some very strong concoctions in the back, but you look as though they might..."

"I said," Snape enunciated with an edge to his voice, "anything strong. I didn't want an editorial about my drinking habits."

"Okay," said Rosmerta, shaking her head, "will do." She gave him one last disappointed pout, then turned on a heel to place his order at the bar.

Rosmerta was quick, and returned in seconds to hand him a flagon of something Snape did not even want to know the color of. He took a sip, then looked away from Rosmerta, signalling to her he was finished with her presence. Rosmerta flounced away, slighted.

While drinking what tasted like fire made liquid, Snape let his eyes drift across the pub. There were a few people he knew present.

Charlie Caiman was chattering enthusiastically to a rather beautiful young witch with a neckline so low it was almost nonexistant. Caiman's eyes were definately not on the young witch's face, and the witch knew it.

Beyond that table, Snape saw with surprise that Hermione Granger was discussing something very serious with a wizard almost twice her age who looked like he was in intellectual heaven.

Snape shook his head with a slight smile before he noticed Hermione was not wearing much herself. He shook his head again to clear it, and finally realized he liked Hermione better when she was a prudish, outspoken nerd, much less distraction indeed, easier to ignore. Better to think her a student, and not a person, and the same could be said for any of his students. He usually tried to shy away from their personal lives.

Though it was true that sometimes their personal lives became his, although he usually knew how to discourage them. It might be surprising to some of his fellow professors if they heard some students of his had had a crush on him. To be accurate, five Ravenclaws, one Gryffindor, and three Slytherin girls to date. His sense of smell was keen enough to sense the hormonal changes in the girls who had fooled themselves into thinking he had a martyr complex and thus was worthy of their misguided affections. The best way to let their teenage ardor die out was not to yell and antagonize them, but to simply pretend they weren't there. That convinced them they were not important enough to merit his attention, and they lost interest.

Hermione Granger was the only Gryffindor who had ever been attracted to him. It never ceased to amaze him, but in her sixth year, he had sensed her sexuality open when he looked at her though he thought it had been so slight, she had not even been completely aware of her own reactions. But he had weathered that storm. Thank Chrestomanci.

He dragged his mind away from reminiscences again-- how morbidly nostalgic he was being this evening!-- and continued to survey the room.

Mundungus Fletcher was conversing with two of his colleagues, elaborating with grand gestures. Snape could see at a glance that the wizards who were listening were extremely bored. Fletcher always did have the same talent to put people to sleep as his great-great-great-grandfather had, the previous History of Magic teacher of Hogwarts.

And Snape continued to drink.

When he finished that single flagon, he took out a Galleon from the pocket of his robes and set it on the table, then left, as inconspicuous as a ghost. The crowds were beginning to give him a headache, so he slid into a rather deserted alley. He stood in the moonlight. A rat crashed into some broken glass and a trash can fell over as it scurried away from the presence of the dark man.

"Who's there?" someone called, a female voice, tremulous with fear.

_What idiotic girl would be skulking in a deserted alley at this time of night?_ Snape asked himself, reaching behind his head and pulling the mask over his face. _How foolish._

Grinning a shark's smile, he followed the frightened sound of her breathing, feet moving as quietly as if he were floating. He saw a white-robed arm quivering from behind one particular trash can, and a single eye gazed at him like a petrified rabbit.

"Hello, little girl," Snape murmured.

"Oh, gods," she gasped. She jumped up, causing the trash can to roll into the middle of the alley, and began running. Snape followed, relishing the smell of her fear, intoxicating as the liquor he had just consumed.

She was small, and she could not run very quickly. He caught up to her within minutes. She began sobbing, great big wracking sobs that caught in her nose and throat. He held her arms and shook her.

"Help," the girl tried to cry out, but the cry was smothered by her own tears. "A Death Eater!"

"I'm no Death Eater," Snape said, his silky voice cutting through her sobs like a warm knife through butter.

"Then-" she choked, "why-?"

Snape sneered from behind his mask, and growled, "I was trying to bring you into the streets. The alley isn't safe for such as you. Don't you know Death Eaters escaped Azkaban? Has lunacy invaded your brain as it has to every other damn fool in this world? I would have thought someone as innocent as you would have some sense." Every word sounded like something he would say to one of his students, and Snape was aware of this. He grimaced in disgust. He had been a professor for too long.

"I'm s-sorry," the girl tried to say.

"Don't be sorry," Snape snapped. "Don't do it again and waste my time. Now go!" He threw her to the side. He heard her stumble, then she scurried away as though hellhounds were at her heels.

Snape sighed.

"I'm getting soft," he whispered to the moon. "Where did Severus go? I remember when I would not have even let her speak. I would have wrapped my hands around her pure little neck and strangled her, nice and slowly, so I could see every contortion of her pretty, young face. Damn! I've never seen a world so festering with damnation!" His voice echoed against the stone walls, but he did not care. "Has Voldemort really returned? Have people really died with the Dark Mark hovering over their roofs as my own Mark lingers on my polluted skin? Why should I care? I never would have before. Why is it real to me?"

He struck a wall. "Damn!"

Then he fell to his knees and whispered, "Who am I now? Who have I become?"

~888~

Draco spared a glance for Corielle as she began slicing Mandrake roots. Her hair was pulled back today, plaited into one long tail that fell down her back. She had a faint smile on her face, a surreptitious smile he had never seen before nor ever expected to see.

It was a smile of confidence, of secret knowledge.

It was the Slytherin.

Though she was two years younger, she had intrigued him since her first appearance in the Great Hall when he had inquired about the head scarf. He had not really minded the assignment Professor Snape had given him, to watch her and tell him everything Draco knew. His natural curiosity would have led him down that path anyway. And he never regretted his friendship with her. Or what passed as a friendship in Slytherin.

Neither did Corielle, it seemed. She went on working with him in their classes, and she spoke with him when he spoke to her, and sometimes she even voluntarily sat with him. Draco wasn't sure whether she liked him or whether she just felt comfortable with his presence.

Either way, Draco was content with the girl Corielle was becoming. And furthermore, he thought Snape was as well.

Draco sometimes saw Snape curve his lips in what appeared to be a smile when Corielle answered a question correctly in his class, or when she brewed a potion to perfection. Corielle was no Hermione Granger; she did not strut her intelligence and abilities, and Draco knew Hermione's general hands-up antics were what made her so despicable to Snape in the first place. Still, not much led to a smile with Snape, and Draco sometimes wondered exactly what made the Potions Master so pleased when he walked into class with Corielle behind him after a morning of advanced private classes.

Little did Draco know that Snape wondered the same thing. He, too, had noticed Corielle's almost immediate change. She had not transformed from her previous personality. She still fed bits of her food to the mice that had nested under her bed, the ones that she had ordered the house-elves not to disturb, and the one mouse which she had fed in the Great Hall. Lupin still commented on Corielle's kindness and sensitivity, his eyes sad as he thought of all Corielle had been through; Corielle had been right about how her other teachers would treat her, but she managed to survive despite the pity she so hated. How odd that he and Corielle would share such a characteristic.

No, Corielle was becoming Slytherin, of that Snape was sure.

He bent down to make a red mark on one of the second-year Hufflepuff's essays when the classroom door burst open, and a large personage entered the room.

"Severus Snape!" it bellowed. "What is the meaning of this?!"

~888888~

-If anyone can find the_ Princess Bride_ quote, a point to you.

-"The world is festering with damnation!" and "What, after all, is a halo? Only one more thing to keep clean." both come from Christopher Fry's _The Lady's Not For Burning_. I love the lines in that play, so I might quote it from time to time. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"What is the meaning of this?"

Snape answered without looking up. While he had not been expecting her, her presence was certainly not surprising. "That is perhaps the ]most meaningful question in the world, my dear Abigail Mahaffey."

The person who stepped forward made one girl in the back of the classroom gasp.

Indeed, this woman was ponderous.

Though her stature could hardly compare with Hagrid's, she gave the impression of filling the entire room, blocking the light that came through the door and sending her dominating presence to the far corners of the room.

She had a formidable countenance, with dark brown hair tied in a precarious knot at the nape of her neck, and bushy eyebrows curled towards the center of her forehead, making her black eyes menacing. Her nostrils flared and her mouth naturally curved into a sneer. A forceful chin jutted outward. Her head was connected to a thick neck, connected to a thick body, not fat or soft, but muscular. But despite all this, she still managed to look feminine in her purple robes and peaked hat. The woman held a trunk tightly in one fist and a large carpetbag in the other.

At Snape's reply, her frightening face twisted into a less baleful look of resignation and, oddly, relief.

"How did you know it was I?" the woman asked with a touch of a smile.

"I'd recognize your voice anywhere. You screamed it at me enough when we were children," Snape said, scribbling something on the Hufflepuff essay in front of him, then setting down his quill. With an inaudible sigh, he stood, making eye contact with the woman for the first time. "What brings you to Hogwarts?"

"Aunt Abby!" Corielle exclaimed, the initial shock from the woman's entrance diminishing.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Your aunt? This is your aunt?"

"I most certainly am," said Abigail Mahaffey, personally affronted by Snape's tone. "Why?"

Snape shrugged. "No reason. You're just and she's"

"She's my niece, Snape," interjected Abigail fiercely, stepping toward the girl, "and if you ever put your slimy hands near her -"

"Watch what you say," Snape warned, not really sounding worried at all. In fact, it looked as though he was enjoying himself immensely. "I would hate to remove you from my classroom because of your... negative influence on my students."

"They've heard it all before, and worse. If I wish to call you a-"

Snape smirked casually. "Really, your highly-esteemed manners appear to have disintegrated in my presence. How flattering and amusing. And as for Miss Griffin, she's my responsibility, Abigail."

"What do you mean?"

Snape gave a vulpine smile, rather cruel in the dungeon's muted light. "I am deeply sorry if it causes you any grief, but your dear niece is a Slytherin."

Abigail froze where she stood. Then, slowly, she turned toward the pretty creature who was her sister's daughter. When Corielle would not look directly back at her, and when Abigail saw the Slytherin crest on her robes glittering slightly in the torchlight, Abigail deflated.

She muttered, not unkindly, "Well, my dear Corielle, I think we have much to talk about."

"Right now, Abigail, Miss Griffin has a class to complete," Snape said. He swiftly stepped in front of her, blocking her from her niece.

Abigail fixed her dark eyes onto his. "So?"

For a few intense seconds, these two stared unblinking at each other. Finally, Snape looked instead at Corielle.

"You may use my office," he murmured silkily. "How far are you from completing the potion, Miss Griffin?"

"Draco can finish it, I think, can't you, Draco?"

Draco grinned while throwing ingredients into his cauldron in a seemingly haphazard manner.

"A Malfoy," Abigail muttered, not entirely under her breath. "My own Corielle associating with a Malfoy. It's unthinkable."

"Leave it, Abigail," Snape said, turning swiftly and sitting at his desk again in his own characteristic movements. "Talk with the girl. And if you want more scapegoats, meet another one of your old friends in the person of Remus Lupin. He's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher now." He did not make any move to open the door for them, or even to further acknowledge the presence of Abigail at all.

"I know. Gentlemanly to the last, Severus," Abigail mused aloud. "Come, Corielle." She took her niece's arm and gently led her through the heavy Gothic door into Snape's office.

Abigail swivelled around to face Corielle, but before the her prodigious aunt could speak one syllable, Corielle spoke up ­ not without some trepidation, as it was one of the first times she had even tried contradicting Abigail Mahaffey.

"Aunt Abby, I know you, Mum, Dad, and everyone else in our family has been in Gryffindor, and I know all too well that Gryffindor doesn't particularly like Slytherin, but-"

Abigail, though surprised at Corielle's unusual boldness, interrupted nonetheless.

"But nothing, Miss Corielle Andromeda Griffin.

"I came here because I received an owl that my sister and brother-in-law were attacked by Death Eaters that included my own brother, and I'm your only guardian. Not only that, but I was never informed of the things that happened to you while I was away by anyone, and the news came to me only recently from an incredibly unexpected source when it should have come from you. And now you're in Slytherin."

Corielle began to protest again, but Abigail raised her hand, signalling Corielle to stay silent.

"I know as well as the next person that most of the dark wizards have graduated under the Slytherin name, You-Know-Who being one of them. But I also know, better than most, that not all dark wizards come from Slytherin and not all good wizards come from other Houses."

She paused, then continued vehemently. "I swear, when I see my brother, I'm going to rip him limb from limb with my bare hands. And that's not even beginning with what I'll do with his remains when I get a wand into these vengeful fingers of mine, after what he's done to you. Come here, Corielle."

Abigail opened her arms in an uncharacteristic gesture of tenderness. After facing such friendly opponents like Draco and Snape, not to mention the well-intended but nevertheless rigorous training under Lupin's direction, Corielle was unaccustomed to this new approach by her usually hard-as-nails aunt.

But it was welcome, and Corielle gratefully melted into Abigail's embrace.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Abby," Corielle said waveringly, tears beginning to trickle from the corners of her eyes. Tears in honor of her parents' deaths, tears that had been stifled, now revealed themselves in both aunt and niece. The two cried together, united by their grief and their closeness, even though they had been apart for so long.

"Oh, my dear Ella, my sweet Ella, why didn't you tell me?" Abigail knelt before Corielle, who had sunk to the floor, stroking her red hair comfortingly. Not many would expect such a large person to be comforting, but as anyone who knew Abigail ­ or, for that matter, Hagrid ­ knew that when she wanted to, Abigail could be anything she desired. And Abigail had been nothing but always been a source of comfort to Corielle.

"I couldn't ­ I ­ he wouldn't let me tell anyone."

"A letter, a coded owl ­ "

Corielle shook her head. "He checked my mail, Muggle and owl. I tried sending you something several times, but he always caught me, and he would rip the letters before my eyes and throw them into the fire; he'd make me watch, and then he'd punish me." Corielle pushed her face against Abigail's shoulder to smother the piercing cries that threatened to escape her mouth.

So often had Abigail been there for her, been a pillow for her head or a source of stories, jokes, gifts, everything an aunt ought to be and more. But to tell the absolute truth, Corielle she had thought when she had attempted an SOS that she would not succeed anyway. She had thought Aunt Abby would fail her, that she would not comprehend the hints given to her, that she would be like every other person to whom Corielle had tried to clue her horrid existence.

"How long did it last?" Abigail asked, afraid of the answer.

"Six years."

Abigail wrenched herself away, a grimace of pain on her face. "A month after I left then, the bastard. Maiming is too good for him."

"I'm s-s-sorry."

"No." Abigail took Corielle's head softly in her hand, cradling her cheeks. "You don't have to be sorry. It's all his fault. I'm hating myself for not being there for you and instead chasing vampires in Asia."

This time, it was Corielle comforting Abigail. "It wasn't your fault either, Aunt Abby. No one could have seen it coming. I certainly didn't," she said bitterly. "I thought he hung the moon until he came to me that first night."

"Well, I'm here for you now, Ella," Abigail whispered, pulling Corielle into a hug again. "I'll take care of you. And I'll never leave you alone ­ never again."

~888~

Corielle left after the red in her eyes and cheeks, the telltale signs that she had been crying, went away, leaving Abigail alone in Snape's office, musing into the fire.

"Am I allowed into my office, Abby?" Snape asked softly.

Abigail nodded. "That's an awfully quiet voice for the fire-tongued Snape I remember," she said with a wry smile.

Snape shrugged one shoulder and sat down at his desk, fingers steepled under his chin. "Well, if it pleases you, I've used it a bit on your niece to make up for time lost with you."

Abigail whirled around, lightning flashing in her eyes.

"There we go, that's more familiar. Now turn off your Glamoury. It does not affect me; I was subjected to it too long when I first left Hogwarts."

"Remind me to thank Cassandra for that," Abigail growled, complying grudgingly. "It's been years since I've seen her, and to know she scored against Severus Snape, with sex no less, brings me great joy."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Do not push me, Abigail. Do you really believe that the score was worth the price? You know what enchantresses are; you know what they do; you know the only thing men are good for according to them; and you know the extent of their desires is just short of infinite. And then to be subjected to the Death Eater's torments, humiliations... Dumbledore informed you of that, I presume. He trusts you beyond all doubt, but if he knew you were harboring such hatred of me that would lead to you wishing it would happen again he gave Black and me enough grief for our own feud."

Abigail settled into the chair opposite Snape and sat back. "Can you deny you deserved it?"

"Whether I deserved it or not isn't the question, and you have no right to judge. Only Dumbledore has that right with me, and he never abuses it. You, however"

"All right," Abigail said, nodding her head. "I apologize."

"That's a first."

"Enough, Severus. I want to know about Corielle. Slytherin! I told her in a few words it was the least of my worries, but-"

Snape snorted. "Typical Gryffindor. You never see anything beyond your own House, do you? There have been 'good girls'" ­ his tongue stumbled on the unfamiliar phrase ­ "in Slytherin, in a manner of speaking. Being Sorted into Slytherin doesn't automatically turn ordinary people into snarling, rude, disgusting, sneering, ugly beasts."

"Like you."

Snape chose to ignore the comment.

"What makes you think that Miss Griffin is any different than when she was at home?"

"The way she looked at the Malfoy boy, friendly-like. We both know what the Malfoys are, Snape. It's only because of unusual situations she was Sorted into this House, and I want her out of Slytherin now, before it ­ "

"What?" Snape shouted suddenly, losing his composure. He had just integrated the girl into his House, and he was not about to permit an old friendly rival to remove her. "Before it corrupts her? You've talked to her, and if she hasn't shown her changes yet, talk to her again! If she's changed at all, she's only become stronger. She's only just put behind her what Willem Griffin did to her..."

"How do you know about that?" Abigail asked, eyes wide with shock.

"Remus, Albus, and I were given a little look at her lifestyle before that Black Dog was convicted. Not that it was our idea, I should emphasize. She was sent a letter from the Death Eaters after they killed Catharine and Nathaneal. The trauma elicited a rather stormy result."

Abigail closed her eyes, pained. She stared into the fire. "I should have known," she whispered. "I should have known that Willem would force her to become a Slytherin. That evil, conniving-"

"Gryffindor," Snape completed for her. "Griffin was a Gryffindor. A Gryffindor Black Dog, now a Gryffindor Death Eater. It is not our Houses that ally us with Voldemort. The Sorting Hat saw fit to Sort Miss Griffin into Slytherin. That doesn't say anything about her character. To think so after knowing her for years is to be dismally myopic. You know that."

"How strange that Griffin would be the one" Abigail muttered. "The only child of our mother and father"

Snape cocked his head, leaning back into his chair. He could never stand comfortable chairs, so the high-back, wooden throne on which he sat suited him.

"Explain yourself," he commanded. "I thought Catharine and you were sisters to Willem."

"We have the same mother," said Abigail sharply. "It is odd that Willem would be the one to join You-Know-Who when he had the normal father."

"Normal father? This is becoming more and more explanatory," Snape sneered, and then motioned for Abigail to continue when she sat and glared at him in silence.

"My mother, Thursday, was a maid. In many respects, she was a lot like Corielle. Their characters and appearances are similar. Thursday was beautiful, the great-granddaughter to an enchantress, but she had a submissive heart. She left school at fifteen to work at her father's command. Her mother had died, and her father was all but evil himself.

"She was hired by a Muggle man named James Smith. He was married to a shrew of a wife and had a son of twelve. The wife, Maggie, was a wretched, ugly, fat woman with beady eyes and an imperious nature. Her son, Charlie, was a wretched, ugly, fat boy with no brains at all, just hands that reached out and clutched at every shiny, expensive product there was. James, however, was tall, large, looking almost like he had the condition Muggles like to call giantism, but he was no giant. He was more than a man, I can tell you that. He was a Hercules, with muscles that rippled against his skin, evident even under all the clothes they wore in those days. James was an ideal man, a god: handsome, with light blue eyes and dark hair and a smile that would make women of the town weak at the knees."

"Please, spare me," Snape muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Shut up. I'm telling a story that is important. If you're going to be Corielle's Head, which means knowing her past, you have to know the whole history. Don't interrupt." Abigail flashed her strongest glamour at him, then continued her tale.

"Mother spoke of him with a hard spark in her eyes because he was also a cruel man, indifferent to the suffering of the world, and he allowed his wife to order Thursday to do all sorts of wild things among all the general household necessities. He allowed his son to sabotage Thursday's cooking and sewing, though Charlie actually liked her and treated her with more respect than he did to anyone else, even his mother. Except his father, of course. No one crossed James Smith without mysteriously disappearing. And I mean 'mysteriously.' Not even a wizard could have found any evidence except for a strange, unidentifiable slime that was left behind at every murder. No one could figure out from what that slime came, and when they tried to find the source in Smith's home, they never found anything. He was too meticulous.

"Smith did not begrudge the Muggle authorities their search. He knew they would never locate his greatest secret.

"James' attitude toward Thursday was odd for his character. He never ordered her about, and he asked only one thing of her when she came to work for him. And that was to go through the secret passage in the basement to his special chamber where the Thing hid."

"The Thing?" Snape inquired. "There was an implied capital there, am I correct?"

"Yes," answered Abigail, staring at the fire in Snape's hearth, eyes focused somewhere in the past. "James would never trust anyone else to his secret except her. Not even Maggie and Charlie knew of his pet. For years, Thursday kept his secret loyally, cleaning the Thing's floors and giving it food. It would permit her to walk among it's quarters without eating or dissolving her. It was a great privilege.

"Thursday did not associate with anyone outside her situation, and she did her work diligently: dressing Charlie, dressing Maggie in her boudoir, sweeping, cooking, sewing, straightening things up, shopping. The only thing that she did with her meager pay was to buy a pair of scissors to cut her hair. She couldn't use magic, remember, and she hadn't graduated from Hogwarts, so to use magic even in the privacy of her room was unauthorized.

"Corielle inherited her hair from my mother, though Corielle's hair is darker, and if you took a portrait of my mother and put it beside Corielle, the only difference would be in her eyes, which she was given by her father. You've probably noticed Corielle's beauty. Few men haven't, unfortunately, though you might be the impotent exception ­"

"Watch it, Abigail," Snape growled. "And besides, what does Corielle have to do with this story?"

"I'm giving you a basis for comparison," Abigail returned sharply. "So you understand. Everyone noticed my mother's beauty. Including James. When James had married Maggie, she had been thin, rich, and pretty because rich young ladies seeking a match had to be pretty, but after marriage, she no longer had to ignore fine food, and she became fat on it. Maggie was jealous of Thursday, and kept her poorly dressed and downtrodden, but try as she might, Thursday continued to be what she was, and Maggie never forgave her that.

"But Maggie's stingy, cold-hearted, selfish, shallow ways began to bore James. His son hadn't turned out as he had planned, so he began to observe Thursday's quiet, submissive demeanor and her charms, much more desirable in a woman than debauchery and ugliness.

"One day, he sent his son away to sleep over with his friend, and waited in the parlor for his wife to return. Feigning foreplay, he hit her on the head and locked her in a linen closet. Then he sat in the  
entrance hall, his shirt ripped off by Maggie's passion. Even though he was not interested in her, Maggie was definitely still attracted to her husband - who wouldn't be? ­ which was why she made life so hard for Thursday," Abigail explained, looking at the fire in an attempt to tell her story dispassionately.

Snape, too, was staring into the fire, mind painfully in the present, and all he could see was Corielle ­ startlingly similar in appearance to Thursday ­ in her grandmother's position, James substituted with Willem Griffin. He could see where this was going.

"When Thursday came in the front door, James was waiting for her, and she knew what his plan he was doing. She had felt his eyes for weeks on her when she gave him his supper, when she came into his room to adjust his cuffs and collar. But she was afraid, as everyone with the slightest common sense would be, of being as the object of James' lust. He took off her clothing at threat of dismissing her. He whispered menacingly, but truthfully, that she had promised him in her contract to obey his commands, and he ordered her to make love with him, now. So she succumbed, as she always had, and he carried her into his chambers and took her in his bed with the fists of his now-conscious wife hitting the door. Then, after his climax, the door to the bedroom burst open and Maggie came in, furious and intent on blaming Thursday, who was shaking on the bed. It had not been rape, she had been willing, and when I was old enough, my mother told me he had made her feel good, special, for the first time in her life, but she had also known that what he had done to her was strange and forbidden. She never recovered from that guilt. Her eyes were hollow when she related this tale to me.

"If Maggie was furious, James had a god's wrath. He stood, and he became the Thing. A viscous, slime-like creature the color of midnight, opaque. In the magicking world, perhaps it is a relation to the Lethifold, but an earlier cousin, a predecessor before magic. It surrounded Maggie and dissolved the skin from her bones, eating her and digesting her before Thursday's very eyes. She screamed, then the Thing turned to her. She fainted.

"When she awoke, she found herself completely submersed in the Thing. It spoke to her telepathically, explained what it was, connected as it was to her. It had tried to have a child like itself with Maggie, but now it knew that its genes could not be passed along through Charlie, but it was willing to try again. And then James ­ or rather, it ­ took her once more, this time in its true form, eliciting still another climax and scarring Thursday for life along her thighs where the Thing lost its control and accidentally began dissolving her before checking itself. That is what conceived myself and my sister, my twin, Catharine. Corielle's mother.

"We look nothing alike, and I am always assumed to be older, much older than Catharine. She takes after my mother, and I take after my father.

"But Willem's father was an ordinary wizard, with ordinary powers, and ordinary characteristics. Our mother met him years later, fell in love with him, and attempted to forget the experiences that had given us to her. Even though she always loved us, I think she feared what we could grow up to be, considering how we had received life. She was always so careful, teaching us only to do good things, to protect, not destroy. Being taught so fervently was actually not a very effective idea, and both of us were rather rebellious, I'm afraid. Willem wanted so much to please Mother, he always listened to what she said. When she died, he was so heartbroken. One would think Catharine or I would be the ones to join Voldemort, with our parentage."

Snape was holding his head and rubbing his temples. When he spoke, it was muffled, "What power did this Thing have? Are you so sure it wasn't magical?"

"Positive. There is no record of it in wizarding archives, but there are some reports in Muggle history, before magic was born." Abigail broke off, looking at Snape with concern. "Severus, are you all right? You're white as a ghost! Don't tell me this story scared you!"

"You assume too much," Snape growled, now in a very bad humor indeed. "I'm sure you wish to visit Remus and Albus, and you still have you niece to protect. Now leave!"

Abigail narrowed her eyes. She gave Snape a once-over. The rivalry between the two of them was hot, but they were never happier with each other than when they fought, and they mutually enjoyed the challenges each set for the other. So when she observed him, it was with masked concern. But she discerned that Snape wanted to be left alone and simply said, "Fine." She stood up and left slowly, watching him warily.

When she had left, Snape completely uncovered his face, one eye twitching with the effort to hold back the flood of dark pleasure that had swept through his body as Abigail had related to him Corielle's family history. He had to wait a few moments before he trusted himself to leave his office and prepare for his next class which was already starting to trickle in.

He wondered how Abigail Mahaffey would react if she knew he was thinking of her chick in _that_ way.

_It will fade_, he thought forcefully. _Just concentrate on something else, and it will fade._

~888~

"Abby," Lupin ventured tentatively.

"Hello, Remus," Abigail said coldly, hand on Corielle's shoulder.

Corielle quickly noticed the tension and said, "Aunt Abby, I think you know Professor Lupin."

Abigail nodded.

"You should be proud of your niece, Abby. She's a wonderful fencer, her Defense Against the Dark Arts grades are improving now that she has been attending most of her classes, and her wand control is something to be admired."

Abigail just stood there, staring at Lupin. More wilful men had quailed under her gaze. Lupin looked plaintively at Corielle.

"Um," Corielle interjected, "I have to go back to class now. I'll just -" She slipped out the door, and Lupin was left alone with Abigail.

"Well, Remus, you have a lot of explaining to do."

He hung his head. "I know. I didn't know who to turn to, and when I saw their will, and you were her guardian, I thought you ought to know."

"Did you know you knew about Griffin before I did? She never told me."

Lupin gave a wry smile. "She never told me either."

"Then how-"

"Her smell. Six years with a werewolf, and rape, left a distinctive odor mingled with her normal skin. I didn't notice it, just realized that something was wrong. Snape, actually, alerted me to the precise incongruency. As I understand it, they had a confrontation in his office and savage words were exchanged, mostly on his part, I'd guess. He was given the chance to observe the scent, and many other mysteries were solved in the making."

"A werewolf and a Potions Master. A wolf's senses and an oversized nose. I should have known."

"Abby, I'm sorry I didn't tell you-"

Abigail glared at him. Unlike Snape, Glamoury worked on Lupin. "I think I had the right to know you were a werewolf. And I heard it from Snape! From Snape, because he knew I would be stunned, and he knew you hadn't told me yourself."

"Abby, I'm sorry! Are you going to hate me forever because I kept quiet my lycanthropy like any intelligent werewolf would?"

Abigail suddenly turned away, placing two large hands on the back of an armchair. Her head was bowed.

"You knew how I felt about the creatures," she said quietly.

"There's a difference between liking werewolves in theory and meeting a true werewolf face-to-face. And you were always aggressive in the matters of dark beasts. Look at you now, a slayer. My point is made."

"I was your friend!" Abigail screamed, shocking Lupin. "If it was enough for James, Sirius, and Peter, why shouldn't friendship have been enough for me?"

Lupin shrugged meekly, knowing the battle was pointless. "I was young. I was worried about how you would look at me if I told you."

"Did you bite Willem?"

Lupin's face twisted in horror. "What?!"

"My brother! Did you bite him?" Abigail faced him again, eyes red.

He shook his head slowly and shut his mouth, trembling with anger. When he finally regained enough composure, he said through clenched teeth, "So you think that because I'm a werewolf, I've created all the werewolves that have made your life miserable. No! I didn't! Griffin's a completely different kind of werewolf. You'd think that even after the Wolfsbane Potion, I'd be the partial cause of Corielle's torture. You know when Griffin became a werewolf. I saw him once, and that was not only when he was a young man, but also a younger werewolf. Wolfsbane had been invented only just after I left Hogwarts. You know that. See! This is why I didn't want to tell you I was a werewolf. Look at how you've reacted ­suspicion! This was why I was afraid to see you."

"I'm not angry at you for being a werewolf; I'm angry at you for not telling me sooner." A single tear trickled down Abigail's cheek before she brushed it away. "Look at me, Remus. I wouldn't have shut you out. I would have helped you through it. I would have become an Animagus like your other friends. You weren't as secretive as you thought. I found out the moment they changed. I wondered why you didn't become one yourself if Peter could do it. Feel privileged I didn't go straight to Dumbledore."

Lupin sighed, sitting on the edge of his desk, and ran one hand across his weary head. "It might have been better if you had, but that's past now. You're here now, and Corielle needs you."

"What that girl needs is a therapist. She can't-"

"Severus is enough for her," Lupin interrupted.

Abigail did a double-take. "Excuse me?"

"He's her Head of House. The last thing she needs is a therapist asking her about her time with Willem. What she needs is someone who can order her to do work, to do magic that she hasn't been able to do before. Severus and I have taken it upon ourselves to give her as much work as she'll take. He gives her extra private classes where he teaches her more difficult potions than are taught in regular class. And she does well! Do you know how amazing she is, Abby? She's only had her magic for four and a half months and she's mastered sixth-year work, most of seventh-year, and a number of university levels. If she continues to come to my class, I may consider requesting that she have an Apprenticeship with me. She has a remarkable grasp on Charms, and her control on curses are unequalled by many Aurors. Severus is also considering her Apprenticeship.

"Abby." Lupin put a hand on Abigail's massive shoulder. "She enjoys her work, and who knows how much potential she has for further experiments. And this is mostly due to Severus' insistence that she be tested beyond her estimated limits. We both know Snape's a bastard, but he's a clever bastard, and Albus doesn't disapprove of his methods. He even encourages Severus' harsh words, and I agree with Albus. She's finally fairly content with being in Slytherin, and it would be folly to tear her away from her new home now."

"She was fraternizing with the Malfoy boy," Abigail said, grasping onto anything. She could not deny that Remus always had possessed an uncanny ability of persuasion. Or at least to her.

"Who, Draco? Don't worry about him. He's better than Lucius, and certainly better than he used to be. He's a good companion for her, and she's allied herself with Marcie Fireflow and Victor Shaman, so I wouldn't worry about her welfare." Lupin grinned.

"The Fireflow girl and the Shaman boy?" Abigail asked, a smile beginning to creep onto her face as well. "Are they as mischievous as their parents?"

"Worse."

Abigail chuckled. "Good. Do they give Snape a rough time?"

"Certainly."

"Even better."

Lupin's grin left as a new development occurred to him. "You'll have to take her to her home. You don't have a permanent residence here, so everything needs to be counted and accounted for; the Ministry's  
already swept it clean, so you will not find much left from the murder. But the house is yours until Corielle turns eighteen. And Corielle knew Griffin better than anyone, to put it lightly, and she might find more clues to the whereabouts of him and the other Death Eaters."

Abigail was nonplussed. "You're not the executor of the will, how do you know this?"

Lupin smiled gently. "Well, you were too far away for quick owl post, the owl would get a heart attack before he got to you. So the Ministry sent the will to Albus, who in turn gave it to Severus, as he's her Head of House and would therefore know her better. And he gave it to me. He didn't want to talk to you." Lupin leaned forward confidingly. "I think he's a bit afraid of you."

"He'd better be. He's coming along with us to the manor. Will serve him right."

~888~

Snape rubbed his forehead where a distinct pressure began spidering out to his temples and behind his eyes. He debated with himself about whether Corielle Griffin was worth this kind of trouble, a whole night with Abigail Williams.

Still he owed it to Corielle.

With a slight self-mocking sneer, he cursed his pathetic strange sense of honor. He did not mind terrifying an innocent girl in a dark alleyway, but he felt obligated to protect one of his students.

The world's a wondrous place. Where Snow White gets Prince Charming and in a few years one of them is found with their guts spilled out in the fields. Wondrous, indeed.

"Severus?" Abigail called from outside his office. "We're ready if you are."

"I seriously doubt Miss Griffin will ever be ready, but all right," he muttered, rolling his eyes, wincing at the pain shooting through his temples. He wondered whether he ought to take a weak potion to deal with it, but abandoned that idea as Abigail banged a little harder at the door.

"I'm coming!" Snape growled. He straightened his collar and stepped out of his office just as Abigail was just about to knock again. Abigail raised an eyebrow, then tilted her head, gesturing for them to leave.

Corielle looked diminished in some way, and pale and shadowy in her black robes, only slightly different from her school robes. She had put her hair up in a simple knot around her head. Her lips were pressed together tightly, and she did not speak a word, and just looked straight ahead. When Abigail took her arm, Corielle offered no resistance, but followed obediently.

Snape shook his head. This was not helping her at all. He knew it would take weeks to open the chinks he had patiently worked through. Well, maybe not so patiently.

"Snape, are you just going to sit there like a lazy bum and stare at my niece, or are you going to do the honors of getting out of here without Apparating?"

Snape glared sharply at Abigail, then turned away. Corielle had not even reacted to the insinuation, which worried Snape.

Then, not knowing what to say, he gave up and led them out of Hogwarts without speaking another word. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The house was completely silent. The musty air had not been breathed from for weeks, and dust motes littered the air like schools of fish. A mouse slipped through his hole, sniffing the air cautiously.

A sharp whining sound of an unoiled door made the little rodent jump and scurry back into safety.

Snape came in first, then Abigail and Corielle. Snape's perceptive eyes roamed over the entrance hall, thickly decorated with scarlet and gold tapestries and plush Indian carpet. He curled his lip in disgust as he remembered that the Griffin family had all been Gryffindors until Corielle's unexpected Sorting.

Corielle let out a slight whimper, then stifled any further sign of her distress. Abigail made to comfort her, but Corielle rejected the gesture. Abigail was visibly shocked. She had never known a time when Corielle had wanted to brave a difficult and emotionally-rending situation alone. Even when she had been under Willem's thumb, Corielle had been a family girl, wanting to share her problems that she could share, especially with her aunt. But now Corielle slipped away from Abigail into the living room.

"Where's Griffin's room?" Snape asked, sticking an irritated head into the room.

"It's empty," Corielle muttered, running her hand over the smooth leather of the couch. "You'll find no clues there. If anyone really wanted evidence to anything, even Uncle Willem's whereabouts, they'd do well to search his private rooms. They're hidden. Follow me."

As she led them into the study, both Snape and Abigail noticed a change in Corielle's composure. Rather than diminished, she seemed to stand taller, and her countenance grew thin and stony. She reached for a book on the far left wall, a dark red leather volume with gold print reading _The Hunchback of Notre Dame, by Victor Hugo_ in large Old English letters, and pulled it out. It caught halfway, then snapped back in place. A wooden panel slid from the lower half of the wall, and revealed a dimly lit opening.

"Uncle Willem wasn't very original," Corielle explained, "and the old ways amused him."

She ducked into the passage. Snape shared a look with Abigail, then followed Corielle. Abigail bumped her head, but managed to slip through the short, thin door. The panel slid shut after her.

"When Mum and Dad were home, and Uncle Willem didn't want them to walk in on us, he'd request my presence here." Corielle opened another door, this one quite ordinary, and walked into another room.

It was as large as the Transfiguration classroom, and the three walls other than the wall with the door almost entirely consisted of stained glass. An intricate design of ivory, emerald, and crimson revealed itself at second glance to be bouquets of roses. Light flooded in through the windows, shining on wide, glimmering, multi-colored scarves and fine prisms hanging from the ceiling. A four-poster with high posts and scarlet satin canopy waited suggestively in the right corner, and closest to them was a circular water bed bedecked with soft, thin feathers. On the wall with the door was a large fireplace to the right, with a wooden file cabinet sitting arbitrarily next to it. To the left was a closet with wooden double-doors set with mirrors.

"Uncle Willem loved pretty things. He couldn't stand ugliness, and he had a fondness for roses." Corielle strayed over to the four-poster, trailing her fingers over old memories, never forgotten. Flinging aside the curtains, Snape caught sight of more satin coverings. It must have been very physically pleasing to sleep in that bed. Snape supposed that was the point. The feathered water bed was a bit much for him though. He shifted absentmindedly.

Under closer gaze, Snape noticed little knickknacks here and there that Griffin thought might befit his room of pleasure. Paintings of nude women leaned against the walls in regularly-metered intervals. Two of them had familiar features, and Snape looked away. There were pieces of expensive jewelry and hair accessories that littered some of the small night tables and coffee tables placed randomly around the room, and dead flowers that had been long neglected emitted a sickly sweet odor distasteful to Snape's sensitive nose.

"As I thought," Corielle said, almost triumphantly if it had not been for the tone of revulsion, "he knew I'd come here first."

She turned and showed her aunt and her professor a finely-shaped white rose with wicked thorns.

"This was one way in which he would alert me to his... needs. This ironically meant he wanted me here at midnight in one of my newest fine attire that he bought for me. In other words, I was to be here an hour earlier to prepare for him." Her coldness and precision as she reaccounted her time, in contrast to the flood of shameful emotion in her tornado of memories, pleased Snape. Especially in that it was making one large aunt very uncomfortable.

"How often did he expect this of you?" Snape asked. Abigail elbowed him, but Snape's glare silenced her scruples.

"About twice a week," Corielle answered.

Snape touched a hand to the closet grain. Griffin obviously had been given an ample weekly allowance. Supporting a mistress and catering to such lavish tastes was not cheap.

"I assume the clothes you wore were kept in here," he murmured, putting a hand against the doorknob.

Corielle looked down. "Yes, and other... instruments of pleasure as well. I don't want that closet opened right now. There are other places to look first."

"Like here?" Abigail suggested, reaching for one of the drawer handles of the file cabinet near the fireplace.

"No!" Corielle shouted. A rush of magic yanked Abigail's hand away, rocking her backward. Corielle slammed the drawer shut and stood in front of it protectively. "Don't look in here. You don't want to see anything in here." At Snape's questioning gaze, Corielle averted her eyes and replied to the unasked query, "Pictures. Of me."

Her eyes stung with repressed tears as she recalled those days when she had undressed for him, deliberately and sensuously for his devouring eyes, camera clicking, face plastered into a mask of sultry desire or fiery passion, depending on his mood. Snapshots of flushed skin, slow, sinuous kisses, lustful positions, sometimes alone and sometimes with him. Photographs of full lips, suggestive eyes, and wanton, fondling hands. Just the memories made her blush fiercely with shame, and she knew she could never show them to anyone.

No. One could be spared. She opened the top drawer, deliberately positioning her body so that the contents would be blocked from her professor's and her aunt's view. After some shuffling, she found the picture she was looking for. It was one of the last pictures, and at this time Willem had begun to appreciate her even with her new clothes on, and he had taken several rather artistic pictures that had had little to do with sexuality, but just concentrating on the immediately accessible beauty.

Willem had preferred the subtle majesty and power of still pictures, and he had never bothered with the moving photographs wizards seemed to value more. In this, Corielle had to agree that the still photographs were more effective.

She was half reclined on a gentle rose-colored chaise longue, clothed in a sensuous, but not provocative, red satin dress that folded artistically on the floor. Her body was half-turned away from the camara, and her face was solemn, the fullness of her lips accentuated by the serious expression. Her eyes were dreamily staring off into the right corner of the picture, eyes open and innocent, hair curling around her face. On the floor, the arrangement of the hem of the dress revealed one surprisingly sensual, shapely foot. Even Corielle had to admit that the way Willem had depicted her, from the arch of her fingers to the light playing on her hair and the folds of her dress, was nothing but beautiful, and it would be devastating if that picture were forgotten. She slipped it into her robe sleeves.

Then, she unsheathed her wand and pointed it at the fireplace. "_Incendio_. _Wingardium Leviosa_. _Banished_." Three spells in succession, and the cabinet was burning slowly in the fire. Lips tight, she watched the fire char the wood, then slip into the drawers, destroying the remains.

Snape smirked inwardly. It was about time she began getting rid of those memories, however symbolically she expelled the poison from her mind. He wondered what was in those pictures -- and the one she had hidden in her robes -- before he squashed the thought, turning 'round to hide the look in his eyes that he knew Abigail would recognize if she saw it.

"I'm ready to look in the closet now, Professor," Corielle said quietly after most of the cabinet had been reduced to a pile of cinders under the magical fire.

Snape stood from his position of reclining on the mirrors, and opened the doors. Inside were rows and rows of the most expensive and exquisite fabric extending to a far back wall, ranging from the thinnest, slinkiest negligee to the heavy robes usually only found on the wives and mistresses of diplomats. And Willem's sense of style did not end with the wizarding world; Snape noticed quite a few Muggle dresses and costumes.

Corielle spoke up from directly behind him, looking where his eyes rested and nodding. The interruption from his observations startled him.

"What has always destroyed me is that all these things, they _are_ beautiful, but everything they represented, everything that they were used for, disgust me. I wish he did not have such a weakness for beauty. He ruined my own love for it. And I..."

"You'll find," Snape murmured, almost musing to himself, "many dark people love beauty more than ordinary people. They appreciate the rarity of it. Perhaps this is because they have so much more to exploit... to profane. And the things here _are_ beautiful. Don't let your perception of it be affected by Willem's perversion of the gift."

Had Corielle or Snape been paying attention to anything behind them, they would have noticed the rather odd reaction Abigail had to their comments. But they didn't, so Snape touched some of the richer material.

"How did he purchase all this and still not arouse any suspicion?" he muttered. "A man buying such clothes without a woman at his side is bound to attract some attention."

Corielle laughed mirthlessly, "Oh, he had an answer for that. Whenever someone asked, he'd say he was the costume designer for a theatre. They never asked any further, such as which theatre with what ludicrous budget would buy such fancy costumes. This one I particularly enjoyed." She pointed to a rich, heavy wine-colored set of dress robes a darker shade of her hair color. Snape thought she would look like a queen if she wore it.

"I'd like to burn them all, too," Corielle whispered, "but I can't bring myself to do it. They're just too wonderful. Look at them, most of them are perfect for formal occasions. But, what can I do? When I wear them, I'll remember the circumstances under which I wore them. For instance, this one," she pointed again to the wine-colored robes, "I wore when I was thirteen -- I had grown up so quickly, and I haven't changed much since then -- and he did not have the water bed. I had to... satisfy some of his more disgusting desires in this one." Her mouth twisted at the recollection of its invasion.

Abigail finally spoke up, scaring both professor and student. "I think you shouldn't. At least donate them to a charity, but don't let something like this go to waste. I understand what you had to go through, sweetheart, but you don't have to be ashamed anymore. And you'd look absolutely stunning in all of these. Maybe you could save some of them for your husband."

"Aunt Abby!" Corielle said, shocked at the reference by her own aunt in front of her professor. Corielle talking about her experiences was one thing; Aunt Abby talking about future, more acceptable experiences was another.

"What's that?" Snape asked sharply.

Corielle followed his gaze.

"Oh, that. That's the additional supply closet. A closet within a closet."

"No, not that," Snape dismissed. He put a finger to his lips, signalling them all to be silent. Corielle furrowed her brow in confusion, then shut her mouth obediently.

A muffled thump came from the supply closet.

Snape edged toward the supply closet, surprisingly quiet despite his size. Preparing his wand, he yanked the door open to reveal a little old lady brandishing a gold-headed cane.

"Where are you? Come to lock me in another closet, have you? Come closer and fight like a man!" the old lady cried, which would have been really hilarious if the cane had not been within inches of Snape's head.

"Granma!" Corielle said in shock. "I..." She froze when she realized they had all forgotten about her father's mother.

Granma Griffin just kept swinging her cane. Snape did not know precisely how to react to a mad, armed grandmother, so he just kept ducking.

Corielle came to his rescue. "Granma!" she shouted again, this time lunging forward, taking a hit on the bony part of her shoulder. She could feel the bump beginning to form, her robes tightening against the stretched skin. "Stop! It's us. _Accio_ Granma's glasses!"

A pair of glasses with large lenses flew through the air. Corielle caught them and handed them to her grandmother, who had calmed down somewhat. The old lady was panting, and her watery eyes still held fire.

When Granma Griffin had replaced her glasses on the bridge of her nose, she whipped around to face Corielle.

"Corielle Andromeda Griffin, what _have _you been doing? Don't think I couldn't tell what was in there! My hands still function. Handcuffs, high heels, cages... The only way I survived was by eating strawberries and sweetened whipped cream and honey! And all this time I've been trying to bring you up right and you've been going behind my back, laughing and having your men, you scarlet slut!" Granma's cane rose and hit Corielle's same shoulder, this time so deliberately, the bone cracked under the blow.

"And all this time your mother and father pampered and petted you, gave you everything you wanted, and you've sold yourself away like a woman of the street! You selfish, nickle-plated whore!" Granma lifted her cane for another blow.

"Granma!" Abigail shouted.

Granma hesitated at the voice, then withdrew her cane as if Abigail had just come in.

"Abigail!" Granma said cheerfully, if a bit shiftily. "I didn't know you were back from Asia."

"The Death Eaters who locked you in the closet killed Catharine and Nathaneal, but right now that is beside the point. How could you--?"

"Death Eaters, were they?" Granma turned and said under her breath so that Abigail presumably would not here. "Clients of yours? Your filthy hobby got your parents killed, you little slut. You just wait until I really punish you, Corielle."

Corielle shook her head in frantic denial. "It wasn't me, it wasn't me. Uncle Willem, _he_ did this to me. _He_ killed my parents. I didn't want-- I didn't mean--"

"Willem?" Granma snorted skeptically. "Sweet Willem wouldn't hurt a fly. I know _your_ ways, liar. How dare you use your uncle in that way."

"It's true. Willem did it," Abigail interjected desperately, not knowing what to do. She had thought Granma Griffin strict and old school, but kindly and capable, but this... this was monstrous. She looked imploringly at Snape, who was glaring murderously at Corielle's grandmother. Despite Granma's first assault, she had not noticed him behind her.

"Then this enchantress must have seduced him," Granma snapped back, grasping Corielle's upper arm in her clawlike fingers. "And she has to _be punished_."

Granma raised her cane and brought it down.

Snape's hand grasped it and wrenched it away.

"How dare--?!" began Granma Griffin, before she saw him snap the wood in two. "Who are you?!"

"I am Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Head of Slytherin House."

"A bad lot, all of you," Granma hissed.

"Miss Griffin is in my House and therefore in my care, and you will not touch her." His voice, in contrast to the sharpness to his eyes, was dispassionate and commanding, but nevertheless, Abigail stumbled back, struck by the protective loyalty to his student. Maybe there was more to Snape than she had originally thought.

"She _would_ be a Slytherin, the treacherous snake; she _would_ break the tradition of Gryffindor we in the Griffin family hold dear. You..." This time, Granma lunged at Corielle, intent on chastising her with her bare hands.

Snape made to stop her, but Corielle got there first. She grabbed her grandmother's wrists in her hands scarred with marks--marks made with the end of a cane. Granma fought against her, writhing and kicking like an animal, but Corielle did not let her get any closer.

"Uncle Willem was discovered, convicted, and sentenced to life in Azkaban for Black Dog activities and incest to a minor, Granma!"

Granma froze at Corielle pronouncement. Corielle continued.

"We told you he had a job in France because Dad thought it might be too hard for you to hear the news. We knew you liked Willem, and your health was failing at the time, but then you got a Medicus and got better, and we couldn't bring ourselves to tell you. _Don't you think for one minute that it was my fault, Granma! You think I liked doing this?! _You think I came here nights, thinking, hey, why don't I shag my own _uncle?!_ _I hated it! And I hate you!_" Corielle shut her mouth quickly, hoping to the stars that she had swallowed the last sentence, but from the wide eyes and indignant mouth of Corielle's grandmother, Corielle could see that she had not.

"You little--" Granma began.

Then Abigail found her tongue. "In the name of the Ministry, cease your despicable actions, Elvira Griffin! I arrest you in response to your violation against Article 36, Clause 2, Section 14.5.6, forbidding abuse of the magnitude such as that you have inflicted on this minor. Give up Corielle and come quietly."

Granma Griffin was so shocked by the statement that she reeled back and attempted to flee. Abigail Mahaffey stretched out a meaty hand and cast a Binding Charm. Granma fell to the floor, mouthing mutinously against her bonds.

Snape raised an eyebrow approvingly. "Can you do that?"

Abigail, still wired from the violent emotional response, looked at him like he was from another planet. "_Yes_," she said exaggeratedly. "I'm a slayer, I get rid of delinquent sentient creatures, therefore defending justice, therefore I'm given the dual occupation of law enforcement. What did you think?"

Snape held up his hands, palms up, in amused surrender.

"Corielle," Abigail said gently, "are you okay?"

"I-- I just-- I just said I hated her-- And I do-- I do-- I hate her. I hate her, I hate her, _I hate her!_ And I _hate_ Uncle Willem!" Corielle buried her face in her hands and her shoulders started shaking.

Abigail approached her cautiously. "Ella, darling?"

A choking sound came from her throat, and Abigail put a tentative hand on her shoulder. Corielle collapsed to the ground, causing her hands to fall from her face. But instead of the teary lashes and the red eyes Abigail had expected, Corielle was laughing so hard she could not breathe. She rocked back and forth, gasping in air when she was given the opportunity. Abigail watched her in total surprise.

Abigail sent a look to Snape that pretty much meant: _She's gone mad._

Snape just stood there casually, his arms crossed, lips curved slightly into a pleased smile.

"Gods, that felt so _good!_" Corielle finally said when she caught her breath. "So _good!_"

"Don't let it become a habit," Snape murmured, giving her the broken cane. "It's rather addicting, not to mention corrosive. But in this case, I don't blame you a bit. Abigail, call the actual law enforcement officers and tell them to take this one into custody."

Abigail's mouth fell open as she realized Corielle was actually laughing with sincerity. In response to the disbelieving gaze at his back, Snape turned and whispered in Abigail's ear, "Watch the   
Master work."

As irritating as it was to obey her childhood rival, Abigail waved her wand, and sent out a summons that immediately brought two officers. They left quickly with Granma Griffin after meeting the famous Abigail Mahaffey, slayer of some of the most notorious creatures in Asia. One of them even got her autograph.

"Don't even start with me, Severus Snape," Abigail snapped, catching the ghost of a mocking grin.

~888~

They arrived back at Hogwarts late that evening after going through many of Corielle's parents' effects. Abigail accounted for everything in an official-looking notebook and gave the notebook to an official-looking Ministry eagle owl. Corielle had remained mostly in her wing of the house. There, her bedroom had been ransacked, but everything was accounted for, so Corielle spent most of her time trying to put her room back together. She found several things indicative of Griffin's taunting presence: an incongruous bottle of red wine, a vial of a potion specifically brewed by him to increase the time and degree of sexual pleasure (he had offered it to her when she was fourteen, but she had declined; Corielle took it now and placed it in a bag she was planning to take back to Hogwarts; Professor Snape might be interested in adding it to his stores), several satin undergarments that he had particularly liked, a tube of whore's red lipstick, and a shot of come on the ripped bedspread. She cleaned this up as best she could, but it left her feeling rather shaky, and when she was sure that Professor Snape and Aunt Abby were not looking, she slipped back to Uncle Willem's pleasure room.

Without the two adults, she could reminisce in peace. Her fingers trailed along satin sheets and the feather boas on the water bed, and she laid down on it for a moment. She swore she could sense his mouth on her breast, and she escaped while she could. The room was darker without the light of the sun, and Corielle half expected the thin strength of his fingers to grasp her hips and pull her against his naked body. But no incestuous uncle emerged from the shadows, and Corielle continued.

The paintings had been done by Willem himself. Before her, he had taken many whores to his beds, painting them near the time when he was through with them. Even when he decided his niece would be more valuable prey, he occasionally invited an older, more experienced woman at the same time. Corielle had always noticed the glint of disgust in the eyes of the prostitutes when they saw her, not because of her exactly, but because of Willem. When Willem had collapsed after being sexually sated, the women sometimes would hold her while she cried, brush her hair for her and send her away. Once she was fourteen, however, the women quit caring. She had blossomed too well for them to think she was anything but one of them. That had hurt the most.

Corielle pushed open the door to the clothes closet. They were really beautiful robes and dresses and gowns. She was only human, and only a girl. Was it too wrong to like the things he had bought for her? The thought made her think herself filthy. Of course it was wrong. Every single one of these fabrics had been caressed by Willem, groped by Willem, licked by Willem, bought by Willem. She remembered his fingers through her hair when the strands had been the only thing that had clothed her, barely trailing skin, yet still completely trailing skin. She shivered.

When she heard Abigail call for her, she ran up and slipped through a back way so that Abigail would not know where she had just been.

"Are you ready to leave?" Abigail asked gently.

Corielle nodded. Her face was more tranquil than Abigail had ever seen it. _She's so beautiful_, Abigail thought fondly. _She looks like Pallas Athene_.

"Do you have anything you'd like to take with you to Hogwarts, now that. . . ?"

Corielle nodded and said, "I have a trunk upstairs. Would you mind Summoning it for me? It's a bit heavy."

Abigail, with a wave of the wand, Summoned the large trunk of clothing and other items and floated it to the porch.

"Go on out with Professor Snape," Abigail said. "I need to do one more thing."

Corielle obeyed and stood on the stone porch with her professor, not speaking. Snape did not mind. He was disinclined to respond himself. Abigail came out a few minutes later, her suitcase she had brought to collect a few items of her own firmly in hand.

Snape took Corielle by the shoulder and Abigail by the elbow, and they Disapparated.

Outside the Hogwarts gates, Corielle opened her bag and gave Snape the potion vial. Snape held it for a moment, observing his contents. He raised an eyebrow at his induction. He did not comment, but slipped it into his robes.

When they entered Hogwarts, Lupin was there to meet them and asked to speak to Snape about some of his Slytherins' antics. So Abigail walked Corielle to her House commons on her own, growing more and more uncomfortable with the idea that Corielle was going to the dungeons rather than to the towers, like all of her family before her.

Corielle stopped in front of the blank stone wall and faced her aunt.

"You can't really come in, you know," Corielle said stiffly.

"I know, but I don't have to like it, now, do I?"

Corielle gave a reluctant smile, then hugged her aunt in farewell.

"Wait," Abigail cried. "Before you go, I wanted. . . to give you your birthday present. You're turning seventeen after all, an important year. . ." Abigail opened her suitcase and took out a large parchment wrapped bundle. "I'd like you to wear one of these to the Christmas party."

Corielle eyed the package warily. "What Christmas party?"

Abigail held out the package and explained, "Sixth years and seventh years go to the House of Mirth at Hogsmeade before the holidays. It's an honored Hogwarts tradition. Even the professors participate, go you can go with Professors Lupin and S-Snape if you'd like."

"The House of Mirth?" Corielle repeated carefully. "Isn't that a--"

"The party doesn't take place in the pleasure rooms, and none of you are allowed to go there anyway. It's just a party, with food, dancing, games, kareoke. . . But it's a real formal event, and I don't think you have proper dress robes, so. . ."

Corielle took the package and unwrapped it, never taking her eyes from her aunt. She set the pile on the floor to finish. She gaped incredulously at what she saw. Three dress robes of the finest quality lay in the brown parchment, but Corielle knew from where they had come. She had worn them only once, then Willem had hung them in the closet. And they were recent, so they fit her perfectly. But all three of them were not her most modest robes, though they covered what they legally should.

Corielle's head jerked up and her eyes were blazing with anger. "Aunt Abby, how could you? How could you bring these here? I hate them. I never wanted to see them again! Don't you know what I did in these?!"

"It's time to put that behind you--"

"That's not something you can just forget. You don't understand that, do you?" Corielle was standing now, and Abigail took a step backward from the force of her voice. "You never had someone blood related to you tell you are you're good for is a pretty picture and a long, pleasureable tumble. You've never had to undress yourself in front of him, or kiss him, or tease him at his request. And until you have, you're never going to get it. When I look at these, it's like he's looking at me and stroking me and sticking himself into me all over again. I don't want to remember!"

Abigail, still slightly shocked at the transformation, decided to stand firm with her decision. "And you're too close to the situation to think clearly. The robes will look wonderful on you, and you're almost a woman. There's nothing for you to hide, baby. It's not wrong. And I have been in contact with troubled people. I hunt dangerous half-breeds, for Chrestomanci's sake. I hunt the werewolves that purposely put themselves in harm's way, the vampires who'll hunt when they're not hungry, and the half giants who follow their more primitive half. Not to mention the sirens and centaurs who have determinedly set themselves against wizardkind. I restrain them, have them put into therapy or prison, sometimes I kill them, but there are those who have just had everyone else set against them. Take Remus, for example. I didn't take his case, but there have been complaints about him, and just because he's a werewolf. He had to go into therapy early in the game, and we still keep tabs on him to make sure that morons won't decide he's too 'dangerous' to keep alive.

"But I've talked with other creatures, and none of them want to remember the bad times, the hard times, the times when it seemed that life was a bottomless hole, but the best thing for them to do is remember them, then put themselves into situations where they can truly and healthily put the troubles behind them. I think this is a way you can do the same. I know your parents want the same, they want you to have a normal lifestyle, and that includes doing normal things, like going to parties."

"But I don't _want_ to go to parties, I don't _want_ to be reminded, and I don't _want_ to discuss this any further," said Corielle stubbornly.

"Fine," Abigail said coolly. "But I think I'll tell Snape just the same that you're to go, whether he has to force you or not."

"You wouldn't!" Corielle said, turning red.

"I will."

"Then this is where I leave you. You need to _get back to work_," Corielle replied. She gave her aunt an angry embrace--she did not want to forgo her own bit of comfort, and she still remembered the last goodbye she had with her parents. "Goodbye!" And without looking at her aunt again, she mumbled the password and stalked into the Slytherin common room. Before the wall could settle itself back into place, Abigail threw the bundle of clothes through a chink. Then she went to find Snape. _It's for her own good,_ she thought to herself.

Corielle knew most of the Slytherins had their eyes on her and had probably heard most of the outburst, but at this point, she did not care in the least.

Draco tactlessly walked over and handed her the robes that Abigail had thrown.

"Here," he said. "I think someone wanted you to have these."

Corielle snatched them from him and made to throw them into the fire. Try as she might, however, she could not bring herself to do it. Her aunt was going back to Asia in the morning, and this had been her parting gift. And they really were beautiful.

Feeling very small and weak, Corielle walked up to her dormitory and hung the robes in the sixth-year girls wardrobe.

"Bye, Aunt Abby," she said softly to the window where she could see her aunt walking down the hill toward the gate.

~888888~


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

"I'm not going, Marcie," Corielle said stubbornly from behind her four-poster curtains. She had cloistered herself in her bed and had refused to come out all afternoon. Marcie and Lynn and Constance and Anne and Shannon and all the other girls in sixth and seventh year had tried to coax her out, but she had stubbornly--and mildly--cursed them away.

Two hours before departure, Marcie confronted Professor Snape on the matter.

"Have you gotten her out yet?" Professor Snape asked without looking up from the potions he was analyzing.

"She's very... adamant, sir."

Snape raised an eyebrow, but still would not leave his work. "Surely, with all your experience, you could come up with a way."

"Well, to be quite honest, she's shielded the bed against spells and she hexes anyone who gets near enough," Marcie replied almost admiringly.

"Tell her," he said, dipping a rod into the solution which he was checking, "I've a woman employed by her aunt and I who will gladly groom and dress her if she would just come down on her own, and if she is not in my chambers in five minutes, I'm coming up, getting her myself, throwing her in my rooms, and locking her in until it is time to leave. Understand?"

Marcie grinned. "Perfectly."

A few minutes later, Marcie was down again, empty-handed. She was smiling even more broadly now.

"I'll be right up, Miss Fireflow."

~888~

Corielle curled into the corner of the bed, her hands stroking the robes her aunt had selected for her, now settled in a small suitcase. They _were_ beautiful. But she just could not go. The thought of what the party meant: dancing, snogging in the corners, in the halls, in the bushes, the pleasure rooms right next door where people like her danced for people like Willem. And what if Willem were actually there?

Her fingers trembled as they tightened on the fabric. How was she expected to go?

Her curtains were ripped aside and the forbidding silhouette of her Potions Master loomed over her. Corielle reached for her wand, but Snape grabbed her wrist and wrenched her from the bed. Encircling her waist with one arm, he lifted her clear off the ground, and with her writhing and screaming and beating his back, he carried her downstairs like a sack of potatoes. He unceremoniously dumped her into his chambers.

"Grow up, Miss Griffin," he snapped, then closed the door. A second later, the suitcase with her robes and their appropriate undergarments were tossed in. The door slammed shut as Corielle hurled herself at it, and she could hear the unmistakable incantation of a very difficult bolting spell.

"Surely it can't be all that bad," said a decidedly German voice from the hearth. A small, lithe lady stepped closer, and Corielle could see immediately that her stature hardly reflected her force of will. She walked as though she were ten feet tall. "Granted, I don't know the circumstances, but I'm being paid, and that's all that matters to me."

"Just what are you being paid for?" Corielle asked suspiciously.

"Why, to dress you for the party. Severus selected me exclusively for that purpose. And I see I don't have all that much work to do, you're a lovely girl. Come on now, let's see the dress robes." She crossed her arms in the manner of a woman who is usually obeyed. Corielle had to suppress her instinct to submit. She glared at the woman.

"Miss Angelina Wagner is never contradicted, Miss Griffin. Open the suitcase and let me see the robes. Now."

Never leaving eye contact, Corielle unlatched the suitcase and pulled out each set of robes, laying them on a sofa.

"Well, you certainly have good taste, these are wonderful. And you'll look wonderful in them." Angelina Wagner stroked the material. Corielle hid her flinch and looked away.

"I've worn them before," Corielle muttered.

"What sort of occasion?" Angelina asked.

Corielle hesitated before saying, "A family occasion."

Angelina snorted. "These sort of robes are wasted on the family; they should be for a beau. Take off your clothes and let's see how you look in this one. Hup hup." She clapped her hands sharply.

Corielle mouthed silently before she finally managed, "I can't. You don't understand."

"Shy in front of someone you don't know," Angelina reassured knowingly. "Don't worry, I do this all the time."

"No, you don't realize... why... I can't..." Corielle looked into the fireplace and focused her growing negative energy into fire. The hearth burst to life.

"A recent break-up, a boyfriend who took advantage of you.... Oh, you poor dear, he's not good enough for you, surely you realize you're better off without him," Angelina said, as though Corielle had been greatly wronged by this boy that Angelina knew everything about anyway.

"No..." Corielle did not want to say. She fought with the impulse to _tell me the truth, Corielle, do you want me to...?_

Angelina's face looked incredulous that this last worse-scenario had been rejected. "Surely you can't be pregnant, child."

"No..."

"Then what, if I may be so bold, is so bad you can't go to this fantastic party?"

"I can't... say, can't you leave it at that? I can't go! Let me alone, and go about your business elsewhere!" Corielle turned away and burst into tears. "No one can keep from asking. 'Corielle, why do you wear a head scarf?' Did you know I wore a head scarf until a few months ago? 'Corielle, why do you flinch whenever someone touches you?' 'Corielle, why do you step back if I get too close?' Corielle, Corielle, Corielle... Why can't everyone mind their own damn business?" She wiped her eyes. "I hate crying, I'm tired of crying. I've cried enough to raise the Pacific."

A flash of insight, then a softness settled onto the woman's features. "Oh, my dear," she said, reaching out a hand to touch Corielle's shoulder in comfort. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize... that's awful."

"Get your hands off me," Corielle snarled. "Leave me be. Tell Professor Snape I'll heal in my own time, but this is _not that time_!"

"Well, it's a little late, we're a bit locked in," Angelina said. "Honey," she knelt down next to Corielle, "why don't you try this one party? If you hate it, feel uncomfortable with it, don't go to another one until you are ready, but if you like it, you'll feel much better with yourself. I've known women in similar situations, Miss Griffin. I'm a volunteer at a clinic that specializes in such matters. Try it, Miss Griffin. Try to get used to normalcy. I guarantee you none of the girls in your House worry about such things. Try, Miss Griffin. You'll be with friends who will acknowledge your boundaries, but go and have fun. It can't hurt."

"You'd be surprised," Corielle murmured. _I had a family that was supposed to respect my boundaries, lady, and if one had, I would not be in this situation in the first place._

"No, you'd be surprised."

Corielle abruptly reached back and unfastened her robes. They fell to the floor. She untied her tunic and slipped her slacks to the floor. Angelina raised a very well-plucked eyebrow in surprise at the tightly wound gauze around Corielle's breasts.

"You're very thorough, Miss Griffin, but these robes won't allow for it. The undergarments are here for you. I'll turn away if you like."

Corielle did not respond, but began unwinding the gauze. Angelina was ready with the corset and chemise immediately when the last circle of gauze fell to the floor.

"You've an admirable figure, Miss Griffin," Angelina said as she leniently laced Corielle into the corset and pulled the chemise over Corielle's head. "I understand why you hide it, and yet I don't understand. There are women who would kill for such a figure." Angelina then brought the satiny underskirt to her, and Corielle lifted her legs for the soft clothing.

Angelina conjured a mirror that hovered in front of them. "See what a beauty you are? Why should you hide such beauty?" she asked gently. Corielle remained silent as she saw what Willem had seen so many times. What she saw disgusted her, so she kept quiet.

Angelina first picked up black silk robes tight and low cut in the bodice, but frothy in the sleeves and skirt. "It's lovely, darling, but you look like you're going to a funeral. You can wear it for the bastard who did this to you, eh? Let's try the next one."

The next set of robes were a dark red satin that made even Angelina pause before enclosing it around Corielle's slim body. It was off the shoulder with Juliet sleeves and material that pushed her breasts up invitingly. The skirts were full, but they showed the shape of her legs too easily. Corielle turned away from her reflection.

"No," Angelina agreed in a soft voice. "Let's hope the last is the best."

It was. It was a combination of midnight blue crushed velvet and satin, the velvet skirt just brushing the floor, slipping easily into the satin bodice embellished by velvet roses. The sleeves split so that they would not have touched her arms at all had they not been connected at the wrist. The valley between her breasts were still exposed, but the bodice was high enough to afford a little modesty and low enough to leave a little sexy mystery.

"Perfect," Angelina whispered. "Look at you."

Corielle tried to smile. Willem had loved her in this one. Her hair sometimes matched, sometimes clashed with red, but it always complemented blue with a rather striking contrast, and her pale skin seemed all the clearer with the darkness against it. But she still hated what she saw.

"Now, let's see what we can do with your hair."

This took slightly longer, even with the floating brushes and curlers and other magical paraphenalia of Angelina's trade, but in the end, Corielle's hair was braided around her head, then curled down to the small of her back; a few wisps were wetted, then curled around Angelina's finger to frame her face. This in itself took over an hour to clean, soften, braid, and curl.

"Ever considered cutting it, love?" Angelina asked breathlessly after they had finally finished.

"Still considering."

"Mind if I put in my motion for it? It's wonderful hair, but there's an awful lot of it. Almost unmanagable. What do you do with it?" Angelina further arranged a few strands, which Corielle thought superfluous: they were going to get out of place anyway--she would have to move, after all.

"I braid it usually," she replied.

Fifteen minutes later, after Angelina had applied skin moisterizer--the only cosmetic Angelina had felt necessary with the time allotted--Snape entered the room without even knocking.

"How is she?" he asked Angelina.

"Why don't you tell me, sir?" Angelina said with pride. She gestured to the girl seated on one of Snape's chairs.

Corielle did not want to move. The last person she wanted to see her now was Professor Snape.

"Miss Griffin, I must ask you to stand up and face me. The Slytherins are planning to leave in only a few moments; Draco has offered to escort you. Turn around, Miss Griffin." Snape crossed his arms and waited.

Slowly, ashamedly, Corielle stood and turned around. Her head was down, but Snape reached out and lifted her chin until her eyes met his. He gave her an indifferent once-over--or perhaps not so indifferent. His eyes paused a moment on the shadows of her breasts, like any man, but he thought nothing of it. Corielle felt his gaze as though it were branding her. She expected at any moment to burst into flame.

"Well done, Miss Wagner," Snape approved. He tossed her a small bag that clinked when Angelina caught it. "You may go. Come, Miss Griffin, your escort awaits." He made to put a hand on her shoulder. His action made her start forward on her own to avoid his touch, just as he had planned.

"Careful with her, sir," Angelina whispered. "She's a bit shaky right now."

"I'll treat her like china. Happy?" Snape snapped.

Angelina raised her hand in acquiescence.

~888~

The ride to Hogsmeade was difficult for Corielle. They were all crowded into their respective horseless carriages, and it was through sheer force of will she did not strike out at anyone who touched her bare skin. Marcie was on her left and Draco was on her right--safe people, but they drove her crazy. She could not wait to get out and have her own space again.

The trip was agonizingly slow, and Draco soon learned that the beautiful girl beside him would not talk with him, respond to him, or even look at him. He shook his head and told himself not to press the issue. She was strange anyway.

The House of Mirth was a wide two-story combination of inn, brothel, and party house only found in Hogsmeade, each their own separate section. On one side, you could see ordinary people; in the middle, many drunken men and women and their Pilgrims of Love loitered around the doors, striptease music drifting through the open windows; nearest to the students was the party house that usually merged with the brothel to an extent. Every year, Dumbledore made sure that it did not merge for this party. It was an ongoing battle between the proprietess Madam Mim and Dumbledore. Mim maintained that there was nothing wrong with a little fun, but Dumbledore insisted that not all of his students wanted or needed that kind of fun, and many of the parents might protest. Every year, Dumbledore won, but Mim was always conveniently in the background, slipping some of the students to the brothel section if they so chose. Dumbledore sometimes turned a blind eye.

Corielle tried to stay near the walls, but Snape grasped her arm in a tight hand and dragged her to the table where Lupin was already reclining, drinking the complimentary drinks and trying the crackers.

"Sit," he commanded, pushing her into a chair.

"Severus," Lupin reproached. "Join us, Miss Griffin, the food is actually pretty good, and the band's warming up."

Severus sat down next to Corielle and poured her a drink. "It's not poisoned," he said, slightly less forceful. "Strawberry ice cream _soma_. Mim's renown for it."

"But doesn't _soma_--" Corielle began, worried again.

"Very diluted _soma_, Miss Griffin. Relax. Do you think Professor Dumbledore would let Mim serve it pure? We'd have an orgy on our hands. This is just meant to relax you."

Corielle blushed but accepted the drink. She could not even sense an odd taste. Mim, a tall, ramrod woman of extraordinary plainness, gave a small smile as she watched her random pitchers of strawberry ice cream _soma_ pour their less-diluted selves into random people's cups. She wondered vaguely how her plan would go through and smiled at the visuals that emerged.

Corielle, under the influence of the drug, settled back into her chair. The first meal appeared in front of them: a little soup and salad course. For entertainment, an obscure light band consisting of only vocals and drums sang as an extra man conjured up strange tendrils and globes of light across the room. The lights would sway and twine between and through people, changing color to the beat and mood of each word.

Jesters and jugglers paraded about, mimes walking nowhere, and instruments playing for small audiences. Corielle had never experienced such languid chaos, and she would have fallen asleep in her chair had not several people asked her to dance. She was so at peace, she would even sometimes let them pull her closer than she had ever let anyone do. Her hips rubbed against others, and her arms wrapped around necks, and her body swayed sinuously to the music. She never could remember who she danced with, she just knew later that she was more drugged than she was supposed to be.

Draco saved her with his experience in the trade. He noticed the torpor that had settled itself on her limbs and led her to a nearby seat.

"Corielle, can you hear me?" he asked in concern.

"Mmm," she said to his shoulder.

Draco cursed and took out his wand. "_Revivo_," he whispered, and her eyes opened wide. "It's enough to keep you awake anyway. Can you hear me?"

Corielle looked at him oddly. "Of course I can. Why?"

"You've drunk too much _soma_. I recommended the butterbeer from now on," Draco answered.

"I drank one glass," Corielle insisted.

"One glass too many," Draco said. "Some people just can't take it. But you _can_ take the butterbeer, can't you?"

"I've taken it before."

"Good girl." Draco looked around, spotted Snape and Lupin discussing something, and put his arm around Corielle's shoulders to lift her to her feet. "I'll ask Professor Snape to help you." He tightened his hold as her legs shook. He looked at her curiously. "Even mildly undiluted _soma_ shouldn't do this to you," he mused. He led her to the table where Snape and Lupin were talking and sat her down. Her legs buckled, and Draco had to tighten his hold around her shoulders to keep her from falling to the floor.

"Professors, sorry to interrupt, but Corielle seems to have... er... become unintentionally inebriated. That's _soma_ that's done it. And she doesn't seem to be all there." Draco gestured to the way Corielle's head was beginning to roll and the glassy cast to her eyes.

Lupin shook his head. "Really, Severus, she did not need _that_ much to relax her."

Snape blinked, then took his pulse. "Damn that Mim woman, she's done it again. I thought I was unusually mellow tonight. It would have taken ten times the amount I imbued to have me this talkative. Why didn't you notice, Remus?" He stood and righted Corielle's head, which had begun to fall to the side. His fingers brushed the soft curls of her hair, and the effect was startling. He jerked his hand back. "I'll kill the woman," he hissed, looking at his hand. "First, I need to have some sort of counter to the effects, a sour... citrus... lemonade, iced lemonade. And I need to speak to the Headmaster. He'll need to be aware of the situation...." And he swept through the crowd, with many of the students giving him wide berth on account of the murderous glint in his eyes.

Lupin hid a smile. "He was more talkative than usual. At parties like this, it's all I can do to get him to grunt. Careful, Miss Griffin." He held her head up. The touch of her hair did nothing to him. He never drank _soma_ if he could help it. The results on a werewolf could be bestial. "Draco, did you Revive her?" The lines on Lupin's face deepened as he realized how far under Corielle had gone. "Miss Griffin?" He shook her. "Corielle? Severus!"

"Wait, Lupin, I'm coming," Snape said, leading a waiter to the table. "Feed her the lemonade, I'll go murder Mim now. Undiluted _soma_ shouldn't have her falling into unconsciousness, which tells me she has nothing in the way of tolerance. Mim could have killed her. Quickly, man, unless you want Abigail to come after you." He headed back the way he had come.

Lupin took one of the glasses of lemonade and held it to Corielle's open mouth. "Help me, Draco," Lupin said urgently. Draco put a strong hand around Corielle's neck and grasped her chin to keep her steady. At the taste of the lemonade, Corielle began gulping like she had not had drink in weeks. Almost immediately, her awareness increased and her bright eyes opened. She took the drink herself and finished the glass. When she took the rim away from her lips, she was breathing heavily.

"What happened?" she asked, dazed.

"You're vulnerable to _soma_. This is a sign to avoid it," Draco said in Trelawney's misty voice, trying to elicit a laugh. He got a smile.

Snape, meanwhile, had reached the Headmaster, who was now shaking his head.

"I was expecting something like this, but I didn't think she'd actually do it. Or that it would have such dire consequences. We are fortunate you knew the counter. But Mim needs to know what she's done. Have you seen any other signs of students under the influence?"

"Everybody seems to be having a good time. Is that a sign of _soma_ ingestion?"

Dumbledore laughed. "Talk to Mim, warn her of what could have happened."

"Why don't we wait until the end? Watch and see whether she decides to do something else. The way Miss Griffin reacted to the _soma_, even with the diluted drug, something would have happened. This is not really Mim's fault. I'll watch her like a hawk to see if she plans anything more drastic."

"Whatever you think is best for your students, Severus," Dumbledore said mildly. Snape felt there was a reprimand in there, but he could not quite find it, so he returned to the table with Draco, Lupin, and a now fully awake Corielle.

"Would you like some lemonade, Severus? It's affecting you, too, and I expect you feel embarrassed that you are actually enjoying yourself." Lupin held a glass out to him, still trying to hide a smile.

"You're worse than the students, Lupin, and no, I'll have no lemonade. If I'm going to experience drug-related relaxation, I might as well live it as it lasts."

Lupin could no longer hold back laughter, and Snape glared at him until the coldness seeped into Lupin's consciousness.

"Sorry, Severus, you're just so stiff sometimes. It's interesting to watch you," Lupin explained.

"Yeah, Professor," Draco added, "I've never seen you like--"

Snape turned the glare to Draco, and the boy halted. "Why don't the both of you take a leaf from Miss Griffin's book? She has wisely said nothing."

"Thank you, Professor," Corielle ventured.

"And you were doing so well, Miss Griffin. You're welcome."

Lupin shook his head in amusement. "We were just talking about Apprenticeship with Corielle."

"Have you proposed? Many happy regards to you both."

"Severus, I've rarely heard you in such good humor."

"Quiet, or it will be no humor at all."

"I thought you had a proposition as well."

Snape sighed and rubbed his head. He was becoming languid, a state of being he had not experienced for decades. "Have you accepted Lupin's Apprenticeship proposition, Miss Griffin? You would be wonderful in the field."

"I have," Corielle said lightly. She was still quite in the grips of _soma_, and the drug loosened her tongue to a degree. "And I would love an Apprenticeship in Potions as well. I enjoy our lessons."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Really?" Lupin was purposely looking the other way, biting his tongue. "Two Apprenticeships in one year is almost unheard of."

"Almost," Corielle repeated with emphasis. "Then again, so is tackling several years of magical lessons in less than half a year."

"True," Snape assented. "Do you feel up to the task? It requires more of the practical lessons in both subjects. If you do ridiculously well, you won't even have to take the N.E.W.T.s in those subjects, but receive full marks. You _do_ have extraordinary potential in both fields. I encourage you to experiment. Would you like the Potions and Defense Apprenticeships?"

"I would be honored, Professor," Corielle said solemnly, but truthfully. Draco snorted into his glass of butterbeer. Lupin, Snape, and Corielle stared at him.

"I'll just..." Draco began, standing up and escaping from their intense gaze.

There was a fairly companionable silence.

Then, "Mim's up to something." Snape stood up.

"How so?" Lupin asked.

"She's got that smile," Snape said, making his way to the proprietess.

"Why, Severus, it's been so long," Mim exclaimed, holding out her hand.

Snape ignored the hand. "What are you up to, Mim?"

"Up to, Severus?" Mim asked innocently.

"Inviting your whores in or... drugging the students, perhaps?"

"Now, Severus, how could you possibly...?"

"One of my students almost slipped into a coma because of your meddling."

At least Mim had the decency to look shocked. "I've never met an intolerant before. I hadn't expected..."

"Obviously. Now what are you planning?"

Mim gave a seraphic smile. "It's too late."

"What--?" Snape said.

Then the lights went out, and he could feel himself being Transported. It was a weak spell, and by the noises around hiim, he was still in the room. But the lights were still out.

Snape began walking to orient himself, and he ran into a thick curtain.

"Enjoy yourselves," a sultry voice whispered over everyone's heads. And from the sounds of things, many anonymous couples had obviously taken advantage of the situation. Also from the sounds, Snape deduced that his and Corielle's pitcher was not the only undiluted _soma_. The heavy, passionate breathing of a lovers' embrace was magically magnified as well as whimpers and groans and proclamations of pleasure. And Snape could hear breathing in the own small makeshift room Mim had provided for the random couples. There was a sense of anticipation and apprehension in that breathing. Snape turned to it.

His hand brushed satin. No help, there were many satin robes. But with his own _soma_ working on his body, the contact stirred him in ways he could not have fathomed outside of the influence. He gave a great intake of breath, and his hand found a thin, feminine wrist.

His reason begged him to stop for professorial propriety's sake, but his reason was pushed aside by the sudden rush of physical desire that he had not felt in so many years. The smoothness of her skin was heaven to the callouses from potion burns, and he trailed the fingers up the bare arm. The girl's breathing quickened, not entirely in fright. He could feel the puffs of air on his neck, the scent unexpectedly sweet. His fingers brushed more satin on the shoulder, and he stroked it with the pleasure of a man who loves the finer things in life. Her hands reached out, possibly to push him away. They rested on his chest. He sensed her indecision. He denied her thought as he leaned over and pressed his lips against hers.

~888~

Corielle shuddered at the first touch of his lips. He stroked her hair to calm her, but his fingers tangled in the curls, enjoying the feel of her. His kiss was slow, patient... irresistable. Even as her past self cried out against the position in which she had found herself so many times before with her uncle, her present self ignored it as unfamiliar pleasure grew from the contact. She pressed her lips closer to him, inhaling his scent, more herbal than anything, but with an undertone of strong soap.

Her hands slid up his chest to his shoulders, brushing the hair there. Even that did not alert her to the illicit possibilities of who this mysterious man was. By now, Corielle was beyond caring.

His mouth parted as his tongue slid against her bottom lip. Corielle gasped, permitting the most glorious intrusion she had ever experienced. At his persistence, she moaned in exquisite pleasure that sank lower and lower in her body. A hand rose to cup her breast, rubbing her nipple with a thumb and caressing the exposed skin with his forefinger. His other hand slipped over her buttocks and pressed her against him. Her arms wrapped completely around his neck, and she fell into an oblivion of sensuality Griffin had always taken but never gave.

Then his mouth drifted from hers, gracing her chin, her neck with gentle, nipping kisses that made her shiver deliciously. This was a man who wanted to give as much as he took, and she would not disappoint him. Her hand massaged the back of his neck and the sensitive area right under his ear until he purred against her throat. She licked the shell of his ear and blowed softly. His mouth drifted lower, pulling the bodice down as far as it would go. It would not quite release where both of them wanted it to, but the man's administrations were still so pleasurable her knees nearly gave way. He laughed in his throat, and the vibrations ran through her body in waves. He held her closer as his mouth returned to hers, his tongue entering her mouth in an inexplicably sensual rhythm until she was clinging to him, whimpering for more of the feeling that was escalating within her.

Then the lights came back on.

She kept kissing him, not wanting to open her eyes, but the light startled her, and her eyes reacted with a blink. She caught a glimpse of black hair and black dress robes. Corielle jerked back in horror and her reasonable self restrained by _soma_ returned with a vengence. She muffled a scream behind her hand, and she stumbled backward.

_"This is all a man really wants from you," Willem said as he shoved himself into her._

How could she?

_"And this is all a woman really needs."_

With her own Head of House, her Potions Professor, and her mentor! He said he'd never... she knew he'd never... She saw the dawning comprehension of what he had done, and the drugged glaze over his eyes sharpened. He opened his mouth to calm her, but she gave another little scream and ran through the still standing curtains. She saw Marcie and Vic still coupled on a table. She saw Professor Dumbledore and a Hufflepuff sixth year having an in-depth conversation on how difficult the Charms N.E.W.T.s were. She saw Lupin drinking butterbeer on his own, and he saw her. She sharply turned away, avoiding his eyes that could so easily see her thoughts and that could see her tears without that special sight. She plunged through the entrance into the night, never minding the freezing rain or the people walking the streets at this time of night.

~888~

At first Snape had just yielded to his desire, and when he first felt the petal softness of her lips that only grew more velvety as he kept kissing her, he wondered from her innocence whose chick he was ravishing, for the smoothness of her mouth could only belong to one of the students. Then, as he continued to kiss and caress her, and as she began to succumb to him, he wondered whose girlfriend he was ravishing. Then, as her sighs progressed to moans that seemed to reach the most primitive center of his body and her hands rubbed all inhibitions away, he wondered whose whore he was ravishing. He knew Mim sometimes let them through, and some of them were quite young. Then, when the lights came on and he saw her, even then, he had not wanted to let her go. She had stoked his long dormant passion that he had shut away after his enslavement to the enchantress, only letting it out briefly and sparingly when he would go to the darker side of town, and it took hold of him like a berserker indulges to his most savage wants. He knew it was wrong, but rules had never seemed to stop him before, had they?

When Corielle had pushed away, then the awful truth of everything had shocked him sober. He should have known that the undiluted _soma_ would have done more than relieve his stress, but he had had no idea that it would loosen his personal restrictions as well, inhibitions that he had held since joining Dumbledore and the Order. That _soma_ had done that almost scared him, until he realized something that filled him with more than horror, but loathing: It was not just the _soma_ that had taken hold of him, but Corielle herself. Even now, stone sober, he still wanted her.

_But you can't have her_, he told himself firmly. _Just set it aside, Severus, and never let it intefere again._ He would just let his practical self reign until her graduation. If only it were so easy. At least he could hide his desire from her. He was sure he had already scarred her beyond repair. And after he had worked so hard at stripping her unnecessary defenses away, now they were once again necessary, because of him. He could kill himself for that, for destroying what could have been great.

He would have to take responsibility for his actions. He was no longer the adolescent in the enchantress' cave. He had been trusted by Dumbledore, by Corielle, and he had betrayed that trust. It would not be so easily given again.

He ran after the girl.

And ran into Lupin.

"Corielle was crying, Severus, do you have any idea...?" Lupin drifted off as he saw the anguish in his normally unreadable enemy's eyes. "You... but... everyone... you couldn't... you bastard!"

"Save the insults, Lupin. I'm going after her."

"You'd very well better. Do you know the people who walk through the streets of Hogsmeade at midnight, Severus?! What do you think they would do seeing a girl like Corielle? I'll bet they'd do a hundred times worse what you've done to her, and it will all be your fault. You'd very well better go after her," Lupin shouted at Snape's back. _How could he?_ he asked incredulously. _How could he?_

Snape exited the building, avoiding the calls of the Pilgrims next door and searching the streets for Corielle. He could not see her at all. He squinted against the rain.

"Miss Griffin!" he called. No answer.

Suddenly, there was a high-pitched shriek coming from the third street. He ran toward the sound.

"Miss Griffin!"

Another scream. It came from one of the alleyways. But which one? Another scream. Three alleyways to the right. Snape darted to the entrance and plunged into the darkness. He heard voices.

"I caught her, Nob," said a high, grating voice.

"There's enough 'ere for two. We've ne'er caught one so fine as this," said a second voice, lower than the first, and more gravelly. "Looks like she knows where she's at."

Snape could hear her struggling against a hand on her mouth. Something struck a garbage can, causing it to clatter on the stone flags.

"Hold on, Miss Griffin," Snape whispered. "_Lumos_!"

"What?!"

The tip of his wand illuminated the scene, showing two dodgy characters with their arms around Corielle. The one named Nob has his hands on her mouth, a finger inside of it, the other hand on one of her breasts. The unnamed man held the other breast while his sinister hand plunged between her legs. Her eyes were wide and more angry than frightened. She bit Nob's finger, causing him to cry out in pain and let go of her. He held his hand up to the light.

"She bit to the bone, Bennie, she bit to the bone, the slut," he moaned. "M' poor, poor finger."

"Shut yer trap, Nob, and grab the girl again," Bennie shouted, quickly, pulling Corielle further down the alley and away from the light. Nob followed, still squealing in pain and indignation. Snape rushed after them, but they had gone into one of the building. There were several abandoned stores along this lot, and Corielle could be in any one of them.

"Professor!" she shouted, panicking. Snape followed her voice, his wand still giving light to his way. He opened a still swinging door and caught Nob and Bennie with Corielle.

One of them had ripped her bodice so that although her breasts had not fallen out completely, all three were given a very revealing view. Bennie had straddled her to keep her lower body still and was unzipping his trousers. Corielle's skirts had already been pushed up her thighs. Nob was kissing her like he was consuming her mouth, but Corielle kept biting and kicking until Nob was wiping the blood from his lips on his shirt. Bennie, however, was unaffected by her protests, and his erection was almost free.

"_Crucio_!" Snape shouted, with no care at all of the consequences. Bennie gave a shout and began writhing where he was, gripping Corielle's waist with meaty hands. Corielle twisted out from under him, but Bennie kept screaming and pushing at invisible attackers. His flailing arms hit Corielle in the face, and she fell backward against a pile of crates. With a cautious look at Snape, Nob ran over to her and began dragging her by the hair to another room, her screaming and clawing all the way. Snape released Bennie from the curse, and though Bennie was weakened, he stood and charged at Snape. Snape was caught unawares and took a fist to the mouth. But the former Death Eater again pointed his wand at the man and said calmly, "_Sanguinus primo_." The Hemorrhage Hex would only last so long, so Snape left the man to his internal bleeding and went after Nob.

Snape found the ratty man in the next room, his arm around Corielle's shoulders, restraining her while his teeth bit firmly into the gentle skin of her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. Corielle kept her mouth closed, but she was struggling like a wild cat, which only succeeded in augmenting the man's passion. Nob pawed at her skirts, ripping them apart in earnest as his mouth closed over the crest of her breast, the fabric of her robes folding over. Snape pointed his wand at the Nob, shaking in fury, but Bennie pushed him forward and to the ground.

"_Impedimenta_!" Snape shouted. Bennie froze, his eyes savage under paralyzed lids. Then Snape lunged for Nob and drew him back as the man's hand went under Corielle's torn skirt. He forgot his wand and began choking Nob, the skinny man's lecherous tongue--bleeding from Corielle's protests--probing the air for breath. Bennie broke from the spell and attacked Snape from behind, hitting him over the head. Snape collapsed, his eyes blurring. It was not even enough for unconsciousness, but it rendered him useless for several minutes, minutes during which Corielle could be raped and murdered.

Bennie and Nob turned to Corielle, but she had stood, eyes almost glowing with hellfire.

"Don't worry, Professor," she said in a clear voice. "Just don't move."

The air around her quivered, and from her shoulders and head came a flurry of gigantic wings. The light from Snape's wand had gone out went Snape had hit the floor, but now an emerald light emitted from Corielle, and an eagle burst from her body, a giant harpy eagle with luminescant green eyes and an incandescent gleam to its feathers and talons. Its appearance resembled that of a Patronus, but the lines were too clear and the presence too real. It gave a wild cry and dove toward Bennie and Nob, its talons clutching their heads and pokingat their eyes, causing a flood of blood to flow down their faces. They gave a high-pitched scream, then fell to the floor from the weight of the bird. At their fall, the bird plunged its beak into their flesh and began to eat, occasionally giving a cry like a banshee through the echoing rooms. Snape recognized the bird, though it had been radically different when he had seen it last. It had been when Corielle had first been raped by Griffin when Corielle had been ten years old. It had only been a sparrow then. How her magic had grown. Snape flinched and looked at Corielle.

She was standing still as a statue, her face strangely pale and drawn and her eyes still glowing. Her skirts shifted from the wind from the eagle's wings, revealing her legs and giving glimpses of her breasts from the loose folds. She made no attempt to cover herself; she looked like some malevolent Greek goddess. Snape could not tear his eyes from her, even as the harpy gave another shriek and flew to him. Finally, the eagle landed protectively in front of the girl and glared at him. Snape stared back. The harpy cocked its head, then nudged Snape with its brow in farewell. It flew up and settled back into Corielle.

"Professor?" Corielle muttered, blinking.

Snape tried to get up and found he could. He retrieved his wand and surveyed the scene. Bennie and Nob had been partially eaten, and blood was beginning to puddle around them. Neither was breathing. He turned back to Corielle. She had pulled the ends of her bodice together and was looking at him with one blackened cheek. Her eyes began to glaze over, the light dying.

"Professor, what just--?" She fell forward.

Snape caught her before her face would hit the hard wooden floors. His hands brushed her breasts, and he gave a great intake of breath before steeling himself to pick her up. He did so and took her from the building, leaving the two men behind. Let them rot.

Lupin met him outside the House of Mirth.

"Is she... oh, god of war, what--?" Lupin began.

"Two men found her," Snape said curtly.

"You're hurt," Lupin added mildly, noting the blood dripping from Snape's mouth and nose.

Snape dismissed the concern. "I'm taking one of the thestrals back to Hogwarts. We'll get there more quickly. Tell the Headmaster."

"Where are you going to keep her?" Lupin asked, accusingly.

"My rooms, where else? I have better medical facilities than Madam Pomfrey, and she needs to stay away from everyone while she can."

"She needs to stay away from you. I can't believe--!"

"Silence."

Lupin was startled to dumbness at Snape's manner.

Snape shifted the unconscious girl in his arms. "Look at her. She needs warmth and medical care, and I don't want Madam Pomfrey asking questions, and I know Corielle doesn't want her asking questions. I need to account for my behavior with her, so being with me is best. You don't like it, tell the Headmaster."

Snape turned on his heel with his sullied robes swirling at his feet and headed for the carriages. He had always seen the thestrals, ever since he first came to Hogwarts as a first-year. He mounted one after releasing the reins from the carriage, still holding Corielle in his arms. The creature unfurled its wings and lifted them all into the sky.

As they were leaving the village, Snape heard the oddest thing wafting up to the sky, even as the rain because snow. It was so odd because the holiday itself was rarely celebrated in such a fashion due to the general animosity between the conflicting ideals. But still Snape heard the song just the same, and he took it as a favorable omen. Corielle would be okay. It was only then Snape realized Corielle was not unconscious, just sleeping. She was exhausted. He spared himself one hand to brush a stray lock of hair from her face and listened to the carol.

_Silent night, holy night_

_All is calm, all is bright._

_Round yon virgin, mother and child_

_Holy infant, so tender and mild._

_Sleep in heavenly peace._

_Sleep in heavenly peace._


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

The thestral landed softly on the grass and stood still while Snape slid off with Corielle. It seemed to instinctively know when they no longer needed its services because it flew to the Forbidden Forest just as Snape began his ascent to Hogwarts. He hoped no student with insomnia decided to look out the southward windows.

He entered the castle through the bottom-most door which he used to employ during his espionage days—they led straight to the dungeons, and it was only a few twists and turns away that he came upon the Slytherin entrance.

"Nuckelavee," he said, and the wall opened for him. One quick glance told him that there was no one but the Bloody Baron in the common room. The Baron looked up from his spot in a chair and nodded silently. Snape returned the gesture before entering his own quarters and locking the door.

A squeak from the corner made him raise his eyes. Their intensity frightened one of the house elves that had tried to take advantage of his absence to clean the room without Snape's notorious scrutiny.

"You," Snape snapped, "draw a bath, a hot bath. Bring some tea, and get out."

"Yes, sir," the house elf said, giving a quick little bow before running into the bathroom. Snape only dared to relax when he heard the water running. Five house elves came running into the rooms carrying a tea tray filled with hot tea and steaming blueberry scones. Snape rolled his eyes at their general extravagance then bit out a tart expression of gratitude before kicking them out.

He pushed his bathroom door open with his shoulder and found the house elf building up the bubbles. Snape snorted, and the house elf ran through the wall to escape. It was then that Snape was presented with a singular problem: how he was going to go about putting Corielle into the bath. He could not very well remove her clothes after what had just happened, not even if he felt impartial—which he did not—because she most definitely did not feel impartial. And he hesitated at putting her in the water in full attire, however torn that attire was.

She shifted, revealing half of one breast, and Snape made up his mind. He let down her legs and guided her limp form into the tub. She began shivering almost immediately from the initial shock, but the spasms slowed as her body became used to the heat. Once again, Snape had a problem, this time regarding her hair. It had been torn out of its original sculpted masterpiece and been dragged through the grime of a warehouse floor—not to mention the two men's greasy hands on the mass. Yet he could not figure out how to get it out of its tangles and knots both intentionally and accidentally put in there. His fingers worked at the snarls for about thirty minutes before her hair hung loose and spread through the water.

_How does she work with this much hair?_ he thought as he stared at the pile of pins he had extracted. He watched as the locks began to sink into the bubbles of the water, and he was struck by the paleness of her hands and face and lips and... Snape cursed before getting to his feet. He grabbed a few cleaning potions from his shelves, and set them next to Corielle, along with a few towels and one of his dressing gowns. He thought that would not be very prudent, but he did not want to search among her clothes.

_This_, he told himself as he sat down on his sofa in front of the fire and closed his eyes, _is why student-teacher relationships are not permitted. If we had not breached one of the most important rules, I would be able to properly take care of her, but now I have to worry about whether she will construe my well-meaning actions into some sort of indication that I wish to further my advances toward her. Damn damn damn damn._ He rubbed the temples of his forehead.

He continued along this vein until he smelled his potions in the air and turned around to see Corielle stepping softly toward him. She had braided her hair and must have transfigured something of his to secure it at the end. She was wearing his dressing gown and was holding it at the neck. He shifted slightly at the thought that she was not wearing anything but his clothing. Her eyes were wide, bewildered, and frightened. She froze when Snape fixed his gaze upon her.

"Professor, I..." she began.

"Would you rather I had brought you to Madam Pomfrey for you to explain certain things that have not already been explained to or understood by me?" Snape snapped.

"I trusted you, Professor."

Those words pierced right past Snape's irritable demeanor, and he whipped his head back around to gaze at the fire.

He listened as her feet padded against the carpet to settle down beside him on the other side of the sofa. There was a whole cushion between them.

"A kiss takes two, Miss Griffin," Snape murmured. He knew perfectly well that she was drugged at the time, but his nerves were on edge.

Corielle was silent for a while. Finally she said in a low voice, "I know."

"Allow me to explain my actions," Snape said, still staring into the fire. "I did not know it was you or that I was kissing a student. I thought that maybe someone from one of the other rooms had been brought in by Mim's spell. If I had known, it would never have happened. And it probably would not have happened anyway if I did not drink the undiluted _soma_ as well. I would not be surprised if we were both still very much under its influence."

"May I have something to drink?" Corielle said, almost a whisper.

"There's tea on the table," Snape replied, gesturing vaguely in front of him.

"Do you have anything stronger?"

Snape cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.

Corielle raised hers back.

Snape unsheathed his wand from his sleeve and murmured a few words under his breath. The cabinet next to his bookshelf opened, and out flew a carafe of amber fluid. He poured the tea, then poured a considerably liberal amount of the amber fluid into the tea and handed her the cup. He poured some undiluted liquid into a tea cup and brought it to his own lips before drinking. Corielle grimaced, then took a sip of her spiked tea. She grimaced again, but seemed to be able to hold her liquor well enough. She sank back into the cushions and took another sip.

"How are you feeling, Miss Griffin?"

She sighed. "I miss Mouse."

"I think you killed her."

"Don't say that."

"How are you feeling, Miss Griffin?"

She took another sip. "Odd. Uncle Willem could be rough, but he was extremely possessive of me. He did not mind if the men he brought in had their whores in the same bed in which he screwed me, as long as they did not even lay a finger upon my skin. I suppose... I was not ready for those two... They did the same things Willem sometimes did, but... because it was them, it... made it worse, I guess."

"The bird?"

Corielle shook her head. "It was like a part of me came out of myself. I could see through both my eyes and the eyes of the... thing. I felt split in half, like a heavy curtain. But it was like... every violent thought I ever had, every time I imagined cracking Willem over the head or sticking a knife in his ribs, came out of me and ate at the two men. It was exhilarating, but... exhausting."

Her words slurred although the different was almost undetectable.

"And I guess that's what you meant by extremes, Professor. Black and white. Weakness or power. I stood there, and the power flowed through me without me even trying. I felt like I was in the middle of a hurricane."

Snape refilled his tea cup. He was so tolerant of alcohol, it sometimes seemed a burden. It was affecting Corielle though. She stared transfixed at the flicker of the fire.

"Are you in a confessional mood, Miss Griffin?"

"I just drank I don't know what, and you ask if I'm confessional?" Corielle said, grinning. "What do you think?"

Snape took her tea from her and set it on the table. "Eat something," he said. Corielle obeyed without a fuss, leaning over and grabbing two scones. She forgot to hold the collar closed, and the garment gaped open. Snape's hand moved like lightning and closed it for her. Nevertheless, he could feel himself respond to the display. He remembered what those breasts tasted like. He wished he could have pulled down the fabric all the way so that his tongue could tease her peaks which he knew had been hard.

_Face it, Severus. If she offered, you'd have her right here._

Snape turned away, presenting Corielle with the back of his head.

"Thank you, Professor."

_For what?_ he thought, trying to maintain control. _For wanting so much to have pushed my dressing gown away from your shoulders so that I could see you, maybe touch you._ He uttered a frustrated curse.

"I don't know what I would have done if you had not been there."

"You would have killed them anyway," Snape said.

"No," Corielle said. "You helped. You gave me time. And you taught me everything I know."

Why could she not see that he did not want, need, or deserve her gratitude? He filled his cup again. He had her at his disposal—the thought was intriguing in more ways than one. His finger ran over the rim of the glass as he pondered what he could ask her while he had the opportunity.

"Miss Griffin," he murmured, "what was the picture that you took from your house that you would not show to me?"

She rummaged through his pockets, brow wrinkled in concentration. Her eyes lit up as she slid her wand out and said in a voice barely slurred, "_Accio_ photo." In a minute, the photo came under the door to Snape's quarters and settled in Corielle's hand. She gave it to Snape. He ran his eyes over the picture appreciatively. It was not done in a matter that screamed harlot, but something about the way the dress clothed her fifteen year old body made it seem more like a portrait of a loved mistress—a child mistress. The roundness of her face had faded over the last two years, but the girl in the photo was definitely Corielle, and definitely a child. The resemblance cooled his lust.

"I liked that one," she said. "It's the only one that doesn't show so much of my skin." Snape handed in back to her, and she set it aside. "Do you have another question for me, Professor?"

_Yes, Professor. Another question_, he thought dryly. He drank his glass down and put the glass on the table in front of them, determined not to drink any more.

"What was your worst day with Willem Griffin?" he said.

Corielle's entire countenance fell, but she answered, "It was when I was fourteen. Uncle Willem had already been taking me for four or five years. He left a rose on my bed on Christmas Eve. I had to go to the room. There were three other men there. They did not have women with them. He made me go to the closet and wear this tight black lacy thing that stopped just halfway down my thighs and did not really cover me at all. It had thin straps that held it up, and that was all. Then I had to come in and touch myself for them all on the water bed. It was the first time I felt anything at all. I don't know why, but I started to respond to them watching me, and that scared me more than anything, so I stopped. Uncle Willem grinned at me as he removed my hands from myself and replaced them with his own. And he felt that I had responded. He said I had finally become a woman, and he made the other men take care of themselves as he took me. I couldn't help feeling something with him inside me. I never did feel anything quite like that night. I mean, it wasn't pleasure, that I know, but my body knew what it was supposed to do. It ached. Uncle Willem expected more from me after that time, but I couldn't do it again. That was when I discovered that if I wanted to, I could enjoy what he gave me. I could make myself enjoy it. But I didn't want to. That would make it too terrible."

Snape managed to keep a dispassionate face. He found it the greatest crime of Griffin's that he stripped Corielle of the ability to take pleasure in her sexuality. _Not quite_, that nasty little voice in the back of his head said.

"Do you have a best day with him?"

"Yes. At least, it started out well. I don't remember exactly when. I think it was early, when I was still ten. I was crying when he made me take off my clothes for him, but he tried to soothe me this time. He wasn't forceful, he didn't hurt me. He laid me down on his bed with my stomach against the sheets. I still held some semblance of trust with him, and when he started to rub my back with his hands, I started, but I eventually relaxed. That was something that I allowed myself to enjoy because he had done it to me before, but with my clothes on that time. I was almost asleep when he took off his pants and stuck himself into me. It did not hurt as badly as it had the other times because I was more relaxed."

Snape ran a hand through his hair. "Did you ever try and tell someone?"

"Of course," Corielle snapped. Her eyes were unfocused, but her voice was still steady. "I wasn't stupid. I tried so many times, but he always knew, and he always punished me."

"How?"

"Why do you want to know these things?" Corielle said angrily. "Don't you know how much this hurts to remember?"

"It will help me."

"Help you what?"

Snape looked at her. "Help me avoid another incident like tonight. And maybe help you."

Her gaze drifted down to his mouth. "Oh," she muttered. "Well then, what he would do was come into my room and force himself in my back door. It was always painful, and it always bled. He would leave bruises on my breasts and my stomach when he came. He bit my shoulder. Anything he knew made him feel good but made me feel bad."

His eyes locked onto hers. "Did you ever become pregnant?"

Her gray eyes flashed, but then they glowed with tears. She had to look away. "Yes."

"What did Griffin do?"

"He conjured them out right as I was beginning to show and stuck them into bottles, like the ones you have in your potions room."

"Them?"

"I had more than one," Corielle said.

"How many?"

"Five. Uncle Willem did not care when I was fertile or when I had I my period. He just cared about his pleasure."

"Do you think Griffin always desired you?"

Corielle shook her head, swallowing hard at the lingering memory of the babies. She had even named them: Elaine, Helen, Brian, Benjamin, and Frieda.

"What do you think is the point when he started?" Snape asked.

"When I was nine. He began giving me more attention, more physical attention. He would brush my hair. He would accidentally walk into my bathroom when I was taking a bath or a shower. He would rub my shoulders, tweak my nose, choose clothes for me... Little things. I think it really began when Abby left and I wore going-away robes. They made me feel older, and I asked Uncle Willem how I looked. He didn't answer. He didn't have to. He kissed me on the lips, and I didn't think anything of it until he first really touched me in my bed that night. With Aunt Abby gone, I guess he felt safer in his appetites."

Snape was silent.

"What? No more questions? No more embarrassments?" Now her words were slurred. "Did I satisfy your pedophilic interests in my immature sex life? Now that I have nothing to hide from you, not my worst fears, not my body, not my mind, what do I have left?!" Her speech reached a fevered pitch. "Now that you have me at your complete and total mercy, what do you plan to do with me? Take me like Uncle Willem did? Like I know you tried to have me at that p-p-place?"

She crawled over the cushion between them and whispered in his ear.

"Do you think I might not fight as hard as I did against Uncle Willem? You think I'll be like I was at the party, begging for you?" She panted deliberately into his ear and took a delicious satisfaction in watching a tinge of color come to his face.

Snape struck like a predator, wrapping a hand around Corielle's neck. He did not squeeze, but he held her back. The robe was open again, and he could see her skin bared to her waist.

She reached over and stroked his face. "Maybe I wouldn't mind," she murmured.

She saw the horror in his eyes. "You're drunk," he said warily.

"I used to get drunk after he took me, so that I could go to sleep without thinking about his hands. Professor." His hand loosened its grip and she sat on her heels. "I know you want me."

He shook his head slowly.

"It's not so easy for a man to hide what he wants, Professor. I _know_ you want me."

"No," he said, standing up and walking away.

"Wait," she called, getting to her unsteady feet and weaving her way to him. She grabbed his waist and fell to the ground. Snape took her forearm and helped her back to the sofa. She was nearing sleep. He could see it as it dropped over her features like a shroud.

"Professor," she whispered, pulling him down by his arm so that he could hear her. "I've never been kissed like that. Uncle Willem never looked for my desire. I never knew how..." She reached up and touched her lips to his. Her hand slid behind his head and pushed him closer. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth and ran her tongue along the edge. He sensed his self-control slipping. Her mouth tasted like the alcohol he had given her, but beyond it was her. He knew she would forget almost everything she had said and done during this time, and he didn't want to take advantage of her weakened state, but... She purred against his lips, and the vibrations nearly undid him. Her other hand took his and brought him past his dressing gown onto her bare breast. She forced his fingers to caress her taut nipple. Her tongue slipped into his mouth and slid against his. Snape sat on the sofa with her, growing hard more quickly than he expected he would. Corielle knew exactly what she was doing because she had done it all before. But now she trembled, not with fear, but from a pleasure she had never experienced with Griffin. He wanted to give her that. His promise to himself that he would not touch her again flew unheeded out of the rooms as he tore his mouth from hers and bit her earlobe. She whimpered so prettily and touched under his collar as far as she could. The hand that had guided his reached for the knot holding the dressing gown together, and Snape's hand joined hers.

But then it stopped and Corielle's body went limp. Snape sat up, erection raging, long denied, but his compassion for her made him cease. He gathered her in his arms and led her to his bed. He closed the dressing gown and wrapped it more completely around her before pulling the blankets over her. He brushed his hand over his lips and turned his back to her. No use in watching her in his bed—he would want to join her. He went to the bathroom and, looking at the still full bathtub and open potions bottles, dealt with the matter of his desire.

He undressed and put on his night shirt before Summoning a couple of blankets for himself and making a bed on the sofa before the dying fire. If she woke the next day and remembered what she had done, he would Obliviate. She did not need that on top of everything else. His mouth set in a grim line, he set him mind on the glaciers of Greenland and fell asleep.


End file.
